Home is the Sailor
by Pat Foley
Summary: In this post JTB story, Kirk comes to grips with where command ends and friendship Kirk, McCoy, Spock, This is an old rescued from hard drive oblivion Chapter 54 up
1. Chapter 1

**Home is the Sailor from the Sea**

**And the Hunter from the Hill**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

Kirk gloomily took his eyes off the aircar controls to survey the unprepossessing Vulcan landscape. To some, the panorama of arid deserts blending into jagged mountains might seem starkly beautiful. To Kirk, at least in his present mood, it seemed inhospitable, uncomfortable, even ugly. A sinister landscape in a threatening world. But then, he had no wish to be here.

Kirk glanced over at his first officer, worried that Spock might have caught the brief expression of distaste that had slipped the blank-face he'd been doggedly maintaining. But his concern was unjustified. Far from being interested in the sight of the home he had not seen in years, Spock had closed his eyes. His pale visage bore mute testimony to the strain this trip had been to his recovery.

Kirk ignored McCoy's sympathetic glance and turned back to the controls. Only with difficulty did he refrain from gunning the motor of the little aircar to get Spock home that much sooner. And yet part of him also wanted to turn tail and run. To put it bluntly, he was conflicted as hell. But he wasn't the real point of all this.

After almost three weeks in Klingon hands following a mission that had gone badly wrong, Spock had spent the next week in an intensive debriefing. Starfleet had been far more concerned with the possible breach of security Spock's capture might have caused than in allowing Spock any chance of recovery. Even before Spock had been released, exonerated and reinstated, Kirk had demanded, argued and bullied Starfleet into granting himself and McCoy leave coexistent with Spock's required medical leave. He had planned it in detail while Spock was being interrogated by Starfleet's finest bureaucrats, and with no small trouble. And after having finagled the Enterprise into maintenance dock three months early, and forced his and McCoy's leave requests down his superior's throats, one communiqué from Vulcan had brought his plans to ruin.

He would have given a great deal to know who the Ambassador's contacts were and how they had passed internal and confidential Starfleet reports. Sarek had obviously been well informed of his son's capture, subsequent escape and physical status. The Vulcan ambassador had issued an invitation for Spock to spend his convalescence at home. Kirk's explanation of his plans had caused Sarek to waver only in that the invitation was extended to include himself and McCoy, if that was their wish. Having fought both Klingons and Starfleet to achieve his few weeks of peace, Kirk had been totally unprepared for this setback. He had been close to treating Sarek's untimely invitation in a way guaranteed to cause irreparable damage to Vulcan/Federation relations. Only his own sense of fairness had made him leave the decision up to Spock. If his first officer actually wanted to spend his leave at his former home, a home that he had, until recently, been all but unwelcome at, a home that he had apparently walked away from at eighteen with few regrets, a home he rarely spoke of and apparently had never much missed, well, Kirk wouldn't have denied him. But he'd also moved Klingon berserkers, heaven, earth and Starfleet admirals to get Spock back, and work out his own leave plans. After all that,he felt more than able to take on Vulcan, too.He was, in effect, still spoiling for a fight. But Starship Captains know control too.

Kirk had mentioned his own plans when he'd presented Sarek's message tape to his first officer and friend, but had not pressed the point. Unwilling to presume his own choices on Spock, he had not stated his own preference. He hadn't quite believed he needed to. He hadn't realized, until too late, that Spock's physical condition had been such that the petty details of where he convalesced had been immaterial to him. Like any seaman who'd reached safe harbor after heavy weather, Spock was uninterested in criticizing the scenery. Faced with his captain's apparent indifference and Sarek's expertly worded invitation, Spock, uncaring, almost beyond the ability of making choices and decisions, had allowed himself the luxury of yielding where yielding betrayed no military secrets, endangered no political systems, catalyzed no galactic repercussions. And Kirk, knowing Spock had endured deprivation, interrogation and torture to get to that safe harbor, had felt his own too late protests die in his throat. He would not cause Spock a moment's confusion or concern for his own regards. He would lose by default. And while he resolved not to let Spock discover his own disappointment, he felt a measure of resentment. Not at Spock. And he tried not to feel it for Sarek. Instead he told himself it was at the circumstances. He didn't like to lose, particularly in the final battle. He'd wanted, he'd needed time, for Spock, himself, even McCoy to be together after the last month of horror. To heal. He felt they needed it. All of them.

Now they were going somewhere where he feared feelings would be given little credence. Or perhaps it was something more.

Coming up on the final approach to the coordinates he been given, their destination grew from a fuzzy blur into clarity. Spock had never said more than a few sentences about his life and family prior to Starfleet, and even with those engraved on his memory, Kirk had been unsure exactly what to expect. From Spock alone, it would have been difficult to judge any part of his family life. After meeting T'Pau, realizing that she was somehow related to Spock, and was apparently motivated of her own volition to intercede with Starfleet in his first officer's behalf, he'd been given the first inkling that Spock had not sprung from the Vulcan equivalent of middle-class suburbia. Planetary rulers did not generally divert starships from the inauguration of other planetary rulers without good cause. After that incident, he'd been curious about Spock's background. He had the ability to go digging through Spock personnel files and find answers to his questions, but he'd respected Spock's privacy too much to do so. Someday, Spock might share it with him, but until then, he'd been satisfied with the little Spock had mentioned. His mother was a teacher, and human. His father was an ambassador. Somewhere, a planetary leader named T'Pau was linked in. He hadn't been sure if Spock's parents were alive or not, but since Spock's few references to them had been in the past tense, he'd made the 'logical' assumption.

It wasn't until Spock's unexpected revelation at the Babel mission that he'd put two and two together. Spock hadn't referred to his parents in the past tense because they were dead. It was the relationship, not the people, that had been the casualty. His curiosity about Spock's past had surfaced again. Anyone, Vulcan or not, who believed they had justification for rejecting Spock had to either be a fool, like T'Pring, or something close to mythic. And Sarek **had** come close to that, not only in reputation and obvious political power, but personally. He fairly exuded high rank and personal privilege, exactly as T'Pau had, and he apparently had the clout to match the attitude. There appeared to be little resemblance between Sarek's attitudes and his first officer's generally modest, self-effacing habits. Oh, Spock had his moments of Vulcan arrogance. The apple had fallen far from the tree but was still recognizable as such. But in Kirk's experience, in general, Spock never asked for anything beyond research equipment and occasional research opportunities, did all the scut work required of a first officer, and most of his captain's. Spock eschewed all credit except as relating to his scientific duties, which as science officer he could scarcely defer, but he also gave a great deal of credit to his subordinates as well. Far from seeking laurels, either as an officer or a scientist, he had made a practice of staying out of the limelight as much as possible. That his name was renowned in scientific communities seemed to mean little to him. That he could, if he chose, have a ship of his own to command someday obviously meant next to nothing. That kind of self-effacement was rare in someone of Spock's abilities, but placed next to Sarek's and T'Pau's general attitudes it was something of a major reversal. Kirk wondered privately how much it was due to Spock's reaction to the breach in his family, and how much was equal parts his own modest temperament, 18 years of Starfleet standard issue, and the knowledge that he'd walked away from his former, evidently privileged life of his own free choice.

After Babel, Kirk had a fair idea of what Spock's home life had to have been. Even so, the sight of the ancient, sprawling edifice that was their destination was an unpleasant shock. He certainly hadn't expected an Iowa farmhouse, but, even prepared, he apparently hadn't expected anything like this. It didn't look like a home where anyone could **live **in, could grow up and be happy in. It looked like the sort of place you put on holocards, and escorted tourgroups through. But then he didn't need evidence to prove that Spock had not been happy there. He had Spock. His first officer had left this place.

And yet it wasn't entirely that alone that made him reluctant to bring Spock home.

He set his jaw, and glanced at McCoy to see if the physician shared any of the conflicting feelings that plagued him. But McCoy seemed both unsurprised and unmoved by the sight of their destination. Of course, McCoy had far more reason, even a duty, to peruse Spock's personnel files, and he'd undoubtedly known what to expect.

Next to McCoy Spock sat stiffly, his eyes still closed and face drawn with control, if not actual pain, obviously caring for nothing beyond the conclusion of their journey. Of the three of them, he seemed least interested in the sight of his home. He hadn't looked at all.

Kirk felt both anger and relief at that. But it took all his self control to steer them through the protective force shields surrounding the complex, to land the flyer on the hard-packed desert sands. And not to turn around and get them all the hell out of here.

Either way,he had his own demons to face here, and wasn't entirely sure of victory.And felt he was walking into this fight shorn of weapons. Spock had left here once before.

But would he wish, would he be able, to leave here again?

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 2**

Kirk tacked toward the building on a circular approach, somewhat surprised to notice on sensors that it was surrounded by a security field of respectable power. On a planet supposedly at peace for 5000 years. But apparently even on Vulcan, Federation ambassadors have to take reasonable precautions. Their little craft was automatically scanned before a window appeared in the field, granting them landing accessibility. Kirk brought the aircar inside and along the building's surrounding stone walls, what must have been the original land approach. There was what appeared to be a hanger, outside of a gate. But Spock was in no condition to walk unassisted even a short distance. Kirk unabashedly set up the aircar to approach a terraced courtyard inside the gates, protocol be damned.

If Spock's home had truly been a fortress for a ruling clan, as it appeared to be, then countless other injured 'warriors', as Spock surely was, must have been brought home along this same approach. The thought gave him some scant comfort as he landed the aircar as close to the front of the building as he could get, determined not to make Spock walk any further than necessary. Only a few low stone steps, randomly interspaced with paved walkways and irregular gardens, separated them from the entrance, still forbiddingly closed. No eagerly waiting relatives, no smiling faces, no hands or dishtowels waving from kitchen windows. Kirk compared that fact with his own last homecoming as he shut down the craft's engines.

McCoy had already removed his own safety harness, and was undoing Spock's. Almost unwillingly, Kirk freed himself from his own clinging encumbrance, and released the hatch, exposing them to sunlight far brighter than what had entered through the craft's polarized windows, and a rush of hot, dry air. He moved to assist Spock's exit, and felt the heavy gravity pulling against him, almost restraining his movements. Spock faltered as he stepped outside and his eyes closed again. Kirk thought for half a moment that it was only the sunlight blinding Spock's eyes, but then Spock swayed infinitesimally. Kirk quickly slipped an arm around his friend's waist for support. The increased pull of gravity seemed to be robbing Spock of his final reserves. Far from stiffening or rejecting Kirk's assistance, Spock leaned against him heavily, his head lowered as if he'd lost even the strength to hold that up. Kirk could feel, almost as if in his own body, the exhaustion Spock was fighting, the effort it was taking for him to remain standing, even with support.

Obviously, the sooner Spock was lying down, the better. But when Kirk tried to urge Spock a step forward, the Vulcan remained motionless. Spock was clearly beyond walking. From the rigidity locking his muscles, he was rapidly losing his ability to stand. Kirk tightened his grip on his first officer even as Spock slumped. As Spock became a dead weight, Kirk wondered how, in this heat and gravity, he was going to get them both up those steps and into the house. McCoy touched him on the sleeve, and Kirk looked up, squinting a little, to see Sarek coming toward them.

The Vulcan nodded to them, but his attention was on his son. Spock had lost the unequal battle against consciousness; his head had dropped to Kirk's shoulder. Kirk saw some emotion cross the Ambassador's face as he assessed his son's condition, but his Vulcan mask was too expert for Kirk to discern whether it was concern or something else. But when Sarek then frowned slightly, Kirk felt a rush of anger and defensiveness at the implied disapproval. Sarek glanced at him then, raising a brow. Kirk drew himself up as well he could with a Vulcan draped against him, flushing even more in the heat. Under these circumstances, he cared little for anyone's opinion of himself – he'd been fighting too many different people too long to discriminate. But he hadn't intended, for Spock's sake, to make his own ambivalent feelings about this situation known so clearly. Certainly not on Sarek's doorstep.

But if Sarek was curious or surprised at his expression, he didn't call him on it, Vulcan neutral again. Coming up before Kirk, he said, "If you will permit me, Captain." Without waiting for a response, he transferred his unconscious son from Kirk's arms to his own. Kirk drew a breath to protest; the sharp inhalation of air felt like fire in his lungs. But Sarek had already lifted his son easily, and was walking toward the house. McCoy followed. Kirk stood alone and forgotten under the Vulcan sky, his empty hands now clenched into fists of frustration, belligerent but with nothing here to fight. Sarek couldn't have made his opinion of Kirk's uselessness here clearer if he'd said it in words. After a moment Kirk followed. He might have lost the first battle, but he wasn't giving up the war.

Stepping into the cool stone walls of the house was an immediate relief. Kirk felt a little more clearheaded when he closed the doors behind them, blocking both heat and blinding light.

Sarek turned. "If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will attend to my son's needs and return shortly."

"I'll tag along." McCoy said cheerfully.

"Your presence would be most welcome, Doctor."

Kirk watched, eyes narrowed as they ascended a long staircase. Sarek had obviously regained full health since his heart operation, to be able to carry Spock so easily. He'd always been more physically prepossessing than Spock, a little taller perhaps, or maybe it was just the effect of his stockier, more muscled frame. Kirk thought it must be a Vulcan characteristic. He had never seen a fully mature male Vulcan that didn't have that look of stocky power. The younger males he'd seen all looked like Spock, with slender, leanly muscled frames that looked somehow unfinished. The Vulcan equivalent of teenagers, he guessed. Spock's 35 years wasn't much of a bite out of a 250 year lifespan. He knew all too well that Vulcans matured more slowly, after having personal experience with his first officer's equivalent of puberty. Spock looked even worse now than he had then though. Weeks of starvation, confinement, and physical abuse had stripped muscle mass from his body, giving him an oddly fragile look. Starfleet had only repaired the worst of the physical damage. Only time and care could take care of the rest. And most of that time was going to be spent here.

Kirk supposed he should get their luggage, but that was the last thing he wanted to do. He stared, unseeing at the tapestries in the main hall and tried to get a handle on his temper. He wasn't dealing with this situation any better than he'd dealt with Starfleet during Spock's debriefing. Overprotective and angry. Partially, it was the end result of weeks of stress and worry. But he wasn't used to yielding to other's decisions regarding Spock's welfare.

For four years he'd been Spock's commanding officer and his best friend. First with Spock, both professionally and socially. It was disconcerting to realize how little weight those relationships carried off of the Enterprise. He'd been jealous and upset even at Chris Pike's prior claim, at Spock's devotion to the Captain who he had served for "eleven years, four months, five days."

But since the rescue, Starfleet had dictated Spock's every move. They had regarded Kirk's presence and opinions as at best unnecessary and at worst, an annoyance.

He'd had to fight to get himself and McCoy assigned leave during Spock's recuperation, and Starfleet had not been pleased to assign lengthy, and in their opinion, unnecessary leave simultaneously to three senior officers. Starfleet had regarded home leave for Spock as more a matter of course than of choice, in spite of Kirk's previously stated intentions. With Sarek's offer they seemed to believe Kirk had no need to take leave at all. Far from acknowledging the Captain's prior claim, and their reluctantly granted permission, they had been doubly reluctant to follow through with it once Sarek had made his request. Sarek had been neither opposed nor in favor to his and McCoy's accompanying Spock. As if the matter were totally superfluous to Spock's wellbeing.

McCoy called Kirk's single-mindedness about the welfare of his crew a captain's delusion. One more example of his being obsessed with his command. Particularly he warned him over his tendency to make close friends among his officers. But Kirk couldn't accede to McCoy's professional detachment. After four years of having first claim to Spock's time and attention, and first say in so many of his actions, he couldn't adjust to his lack of real claim off the ship. To being relegated to a poor and barely tolerated third in the eyes of Starfleet and Sarek.

And McCoy called it a Captain's guilt. But Kirk had ordered Spock on the mission. His perceived mistakes, real or not, had allowed Spock to be captured. He had planned and executed the rescue. He found it impossible, now, to relinquish his own sense of responsibility for Spock's welfare and recovery.

It seemed he'd been doing nothing but fighting anyone who had stood in his way to rescue Spock since the whole mission had gone sour. First the Klingons. Then Starfleet. If Sarek got in his way, he would be only too willing to turn his Irish temper on him.

But he **had** beaten the Klingons. He had gotten his way with Starfleet.

It wasn't until he came up against Sarek, on Vulcan, that he had any intimations of being outclassed.

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 3**

Kirk was bringing in the last of their luggage when an aircar bearing arcane symbols on the side landed in front of the hanger. While the occupant, a very tall stately Vulcan gathered a bag from the interior, another flyer zipped in, swooped around the Vulcan's craft that partially blocked the hanger entrance, squeezed through the hanger doors with a twist of its stubby wings in a maneuver that made Kirk's hair, as a pilot, stand on end, landed with an obvious smell of overloaded braking systems, and disgorged its pilot. Kirk squinted into the sun as its owner caught up to the Vulcan at a run, and engaged him in conversation. Whatever he said seemed to arrest the headlong rush of the other. When the pair approached, Kirk saw it was Spock's mother. He'd never seen her out of flowing gowns and elaborate hairstyles. In her working clothes – she carried a briefcase in one hand and her hair was bound back in a subdued French twist – she seemed much smaller. She was so deep in conversation with the Vulcan, she didn't notice Kirk until she was almost upon him, and she halted abruptly at the sight of him.

The Vulcan said something to her which Kirk, not wearing a universal translator, couldn't catch. She answered him absently, dismissing him, and he went on into the house as she approached Kirk, setting down her briefcase and holding out both hands to him in greeting.

"Captain Kirk. How very kind of you to bring Spock home to us. We are so very grateful to you. I hope you'll let us know whatever we can do to make your stay here a pleasant one."

"We've only just arrived."

"I know. Sarek called me. I suppose no one has bothered to help you get settled, or even shown you a room? You must excuse us. We've been so worried about Spock. Somehow we were expecting the _Enterprise_, and that you came in that other craft took us completely by surprise. Starfleet never informed us otherwise and when Vulcan Space Central told us that you'd arrived--"

"Aren't you anxious to see Spock?" Kirk interrupted.

Amanda's eyes widened. "Very, very much. But Sivesh tells me he needs privacy to examine him. And Sarek told me that he's not conscious. I'd rather let the healers do what they can for him first. That's most important. And Sivesh is an expert in trauma cases. If anyone can help him, he can. I can wait," Her look of concern faded to a slight smile as she looked up at him. "We have time for that, now, thanks to your rescue."

"**McCoy** has treated him," Kirk said pointedly.

She looked non-plussed at his tone. "Yes, of course. You can't imagine I'd disparage his care, after what he did for Sarek. But Spock **is** Vulcan. And Vulcan healers can work wonders in certain cases. They can assist Spock with his own healing as well. But I am so pleased Dr. McCoy has come with you. I'm looking forward to seeing him again." Amanda studied him. "I'm sorry. Here I am chattering away, and you seem quite fatigued. It has been a stressful time for you as well. And I haven't forgotten what a shock Vulcan's climate can be to human systems." She picked up her briefcase. "Perhaps you would like something cool to drink before I show you your rooms?"

She turned without offering him a chance to refuse. For a moment, Kirk stood planted on the stone terrace, before finally following her. She led him through the tapestried great hall through a long corridor into a room where one curved transparent wall looked down on a profusion of gardens and fountains. Leading off from it was another door that Amanda stepped through, gesturing to him to wait. Kirk could see what appeared to be a large, very functional looking kitchen. Two Vulcan women, one old, one young, were within, rushing around, apparently preparing something. At a table inside, sat another Vulcan male. Kirk heard Amanda begin a conversation in rapid Vulcanur to the older of the women before the door closed. Kirk looked down at the round table by the windows and realized he must be in a breakfast room of sorts. In a few minutes, Amanda reappeared, followed by the younger Vulcan woman with a full tray, including a pitcher of something that looked for all the world like iced lemonade, as well as one of plain water, and one that looked like tea. She poured him a glass of the first and gestured him to a seat. After a moment he sat down. It was a bit astonishing even to a seasoned space traveler such as himself to realize what a relief it was from the heavy gravity.

"It can take months to acclimate," Amanda said seriously, not missing his fractional expression. He supposed that living among Vulcans as she did, she would be adept at catching every nuance of expression, even in humans. Probably not a bad trick to have, and no doubt useful to her husband in negotiating situations. "I hope you find this drink refreshing, but if you don't care for it, we can probably offer pretty much anything else. We're used to hosting all manner of beings and our processor is very sophisticated. But I always think natural is best. And this is wonderful for cooling thirst."

"It's lemonade," he said, tasting it.

"With a touch of lime and perhaps some other juices. We have a lot of fruit trees and vines, in the gardens. But many of them are a bit too sweet for Vulcan tastes." She had turned her head toward the corridor, listening, but then, apparently hearing nothing, turned her attention back to Kirk. "The tea is very refreshing too, but it can dehydrate. And until you are more used to the climate, you might prefer this."

"Very pretty," Kirk said finally, nodding at the view outside the windows. "You have a lovely home, Lady Amanda."

"Just Amanda, please." She sat down at the table with him. "You look…so surprised at everything you see."

"I can't say I expected anything quite like this."

"Spock didn't talk much about his home?"

"Never." Kirk said flatly.

She looked faintly troubled. "How very odd of him."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged lightly, one delicate twist of a shoulder. "You being such close friends. Of course, Spock hasn't been home since before Babel, and before that he visited rarely, and never for long." She smiled. "No doubt it's just his way. Here he almost never discusses Starfleet. Unless I prod him."

"Considering Sarek's attitude towards it, I don't blame him."

"I don't mean in front of Sarek. He can be rather close-mouthed, even with me." The girl came in with a tray of food, small sandwiches, prettily arranged fruit and vegetables cut in flower shapes, little cakes and sweets . Amanda gestured for him to choose for himself. Kirk shook his head, rejecting more than the food. "But then, I'm his mother, and children can be rather secretive from their parents. Somehow I thought he would be more open with his friends. I suppose he is just very good at keeping all his cards close to his vest, with everyone."

Kirk didn't like the sound of that, or what it implied. "It's a trait that comes in handy, with Klingons." Kirk said, upset at her tacit criticism and aiming to wound in kind.

She flinched at him introducing that subject into the conversation, exactly as he had intended. And then gave him a wondering stare, not missing his intent, but not understanding it. "Yes, I suppose it does."

Kirk flushed a little under that searching gaze. His ploy, however unplanned towards shocking her had seemed to have backfired. She seemed perfectly composed now, and it was he who was flustered.

"I **am** glad you're here, Captain," Amanda said finally. "Perhaps together we can reconcile both home and Starfleet for him."

"I think his home **is** Starfleet." Kirk said pointedly. "It has been virtually his only home for the past eighteen years."

She sat back and studied him, with that conflict now out in the open, made plain. "Is your home Starfleet, Captain?"

"I suppose I must say that it is."

"Then I can see why you'd want Spock's to be that as well." Amanda said slowly, considering that. This time it was his turn to flinch, at her perception. And before the blue eyes she raised earnestly to him. "Captain. I am so grateful to you for your friendship to my son. More than any words can say. But I must be honest. I can't help wanting something more for my son than a life of duty in some sterile institution."

"Starfleet isn't sterile."

"I know he has found friends there. I'm grateful for that. But there are those that haven't been so welcoming to Vulcans in Starfleet."

"It's my understanding he didn't find Vulcans entirely welcoming to him here. Even among his family."

She pushed that aside with a careless hand. "That was a long time ago. Vulcan has changed too. And I think he and Sarek will become fully reconciled now, once they have a chance. That has been too long in coming, mostly because they have both been so stubborrn about it. But Starfleet is a totally artificial culture. Spock has been fortunate to find congenial shipmates. But the interactions are so limited. No other friends, companions or colleagues but shipmates -- and those relationships limited by military hierarchy. No family. No wife. No children. No other Vulcans." She tilted her head. "I know you accompanied Spock to Vulcan when his _Time_ came. That ended precipitously. Vulcans don't speak of such things. But between you and I, you must realize that Spock is no longer an adolescent. I know you understand what that means, for Vulcans. Sooner or later, regardless of how you or I must feel, he will have to make other life choices. To prepare for that future. Perhaps this is a good time to reconsider, and make some plans for that eventuality."

Kirk's eyes flashed, but he controlled his temper with difficulty. "Spock **chose **Starfleet. Knowing all that."

"Of course he did. But he was very young, and not very happy at home then. He needed some time on his own. To find himself. To grow up. But he told me, even then, that he had no plans for his stay in Starfleet to be a permanent one. Truthfully, if it weren't for the rift between himself and his father, I believe he would have been home to stay long before now. Even Sarek understands that. And certainly had he not...divorced...he would have resigned from Starfleet after his marriage."

"I'm not so sure of that. Having grown up alone, he has learned how to manage his own life. He's done so pretty well so far. He's content in Starfleet. If you and Sarek have a problem with his choice of career, or his associates, then or now, it is your problem, not his."

"We're his parents." Amanda said evenly. "It's only natural to want what's best for your child. To want him safe as well as content, if that's possible. This unfortunate situation has only underscored other reasons why he simply isn't safe in Starfleet. His future life requires decisions that can't be long ignored. The problem won't go away."

"It hasn't appeared to be a problem for Spock. Certainly he's been in no rush."

"Spock must come home, sooner or later. It's a fact of Vulcan biology."

"That's his decision. There are some Vulcans in Starfleet, if a Vulcan is required. Certainly Sarek didn't seem to find it so. And you may be his parents, but I'm his Captain **and** his friend. He's never indicated to me any desire to leave Fleet. I **know** what he wants."

"Do you, Captain?" Amanda asked, meeting his eyes with her calm ones, laying her own cards on the table. "I value your friendship for my son. More than I can say. I grant you far more credit for it, than Sarek might. But, forgive me for saying this, you do have a professional relationship with Spock as well as a personal one. I must wonder, if only a little, how impartial a friend you can be under those circumstances."

Kirk swallowed hard. "How impartial can **you** be, Amanda?"

"Oh, I've already proven that, Captain," she said, with a little laugh, sitting back. "I let him go, after all. I stayed Sarek's hand when he would have had Spock brought home from Starfleet Academy. I haven't held my son back in that regard."

"That's a parent's duty."

"And a friend's duty, Captain? What of that? Can **you** let go, if it's indicated? If he wants to stay here, on Vulcan?" Her blue eyes skewered his, seeking an answer.

"That will never happen."

"For your sake, I hope it is so. But for Spock's…" Amanda looked away, and then as if making a decision, looked back at him, her blue eyes flashing with a trace of fire. "You understand, Captain, that I've seen the reports. I know how the Klingons tortured my son."

Kirk was shocked. "Mission reports are classified. You couldn't possibly--"

Amanda half shook her head, in amused disbelief. "Oh, but I have. Really, Captain. My husband is a powerful man. Do you honestly believe such a …minor report…minor in the scope of the Federation…would be denied a Federation Ambassador? I've seen them all." She looked down, eyes shadowed. "Perhaps Spock is ready to risk that abuse again. But…" she looked up. "I have to wonder how you, as a friend, could wish that possibility on him. Or, considering how you have suffered as well through it, on yourself."

"It's not that simple."

"No," she agreed. "It rarely is. But if Spock can be happy outside of Starfleet then I want him to have that opportunity. To take it, if he wishes. I don't want him held back through some misplaced sense of duty or obligation to you. I know my son's loyalties."

"I won't deny I need Spock. And I treasure his friendship. I value his loyalty as an officer, to me and to Starfleet. But he would never characterize his sense of duty as misplaced. It is the core of his life."

"It has been. And I acknowledge you would find him difficult to lose." Amanda studied him with almost Vulcan dispassion. "But you are a survivor, Captain. You want him, but I don't think you **need** him for that. You may miss your friend. You'll replace your officer only reluctantly. But you can easily find someone else's life to spend in the cause of duty. I believe you would survive regardless. Given that, if you **are** a friend to Spock, you won't oppose any attempts from others who love him well, to find, to make a safe place for him. Or to allow him to accept one. Together, I think we know him better than he does himself."

Kirk shook his head slowly. "Spock doesn't need either of us to make choices for him."

"I agree. He needs us only to free him, to let him to make them for himself."

"He won't choose Vulcan. And if you'll forgive me, Lady Amanda, there is more to life than safety."

Amanda sat back, a faint ironic smile playing on her lips. "That is what I thought you would say, Captain. Spock described you well. You are very predictable. So far."

Before he could answer, there was a noise in the passage, and McCoy appeared, followed by Sarek and the healer a little behind him, both deep in Vulcan conversation.

"Well, this is a fabulous spread," McCoy said, gesturing at the laden table. "And you two keeping it all to yourselves. Too bad Spock isn't up to enjoying it yet. Give him a few days, and I dare say he will. Lady Amanda. You're a sight for sore eyes."

Amanda rose and to Kirk's astonishment, went up to McCoy and hugged him, her arms around his neck. "I am so glad to see you, Doctor, and under such happy circumstances as this homecoming. And I am so pleased to hear your assessment of my son's condition. It eases my heart. You must let me spoil you in turn while you are here."

"No arguments here. After that last mission, I'm more than ready for it. I'm sure you want to see your son, but he's out like a light in some Vulcan trance. But Sivesh, here, assures me he'll wake in – what was it?"

"Three point eight two five hours," said the Healer.

"That's right, and be ready to do at least a little justice to all this. Or at least, be up to a little conversation. Good Lord, is that mint, I see in that pitcher?" McCoy sat down at the table. "Good old Georgia mint?"

"Good old Vulcan mint," Amanda said fondly, joining him at the table. "But the original root did come from Terra. We grow it, in a cool house. Along with the lemons. I don't have to tell **you** of the dangers of dehydration in this climate. So if you prefer tea--"

"I can see I'm going to be spoiled." McCoy accepted a tumbler, poured himself a glass of the mint tea and drank deeply. "Tastes like home."

"That is a compliment. I hope you will regard this as your home, Doctor, for as long as you wish."

"With food like this, I know Jim and I--" McCoy finally spared a glance at his Captain, and it immediately arrested his mood, some of his ebullience fading. "You okay, Jim? Need a triox shot? This climate can take you unawares." He fumbled for his medical kit.

"I'm fine."

McCoy paused at his tone and looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You look a little peaky."

"He's just having a little trouble adjusting to the changed conditions. But we'll do our best to make Captain Kirk comfortable," Amanda said, pouring lemonade for her husband and Sivesh, and smiling down at Kirk as if their conversation had never happened.

Sarek glanced at Kirk and then at his wife. McCoy looked around the table, not missing the unspoken interchange.

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" McCoy said. He gestured pointedly with his glass of tea. "We're on shore leave, now, Jim. Time to stand down from red alert. Turn off the shields."

"It's not that easy, Bones," Kirk said, carefully. "There are dangers everywhere."

"I'm sure to some there are," Amanda agreed as if in excuse, sitting down next to her husband. "Perhaps that's part of what makes Captain Kirk such a very good officer."

Sarek flicked a brow and his hand covered his wife's briefly.

McCoy glanced from Amanda to Kirk, his own brow turning quizzical. "Why do I feel like I've come a little late to this conversation?"

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 4**

"Captain Kirk and I were just discussing what he can do on this 'shore leave', and the dangers therein," Amanda said.

Sarek gave his wife a look that clearly seemed to indicate he suspected there was more to that story, but he followed up her lead. "Certainly Vulcan is not a fully civilized planet," he said to Kirk, "but provided you do not attempt to wander outside the grounds of the Fortress, or elsewhere in the desert, at night, you should be safe enough. I would not recommend attempting to traverse the Forge during the day until you have acclimated. And even then only with suitable supplies of water and gear. And preferably, a Vulcan guide."

"It's dangerous to walk outside your gates?" McCoy asked, arresting his lunch, a sandwich halfway to his lips.

"Really only at night. During the day it's almost always perfectly safe," Amanda assured him.

"Almost always," McCoy drawled. "What the sam hill is out there? Dragons?"

"In spite of the legends, dragons are **not** indigenous to Vulcan," Sarek said. "What appear to be dragons are merely large winged lizards, and in general, their attacks on people are extremely rare."

"What a relief," McCoy wiped his brow. "I'm glad you cleared that little point up."

"Mostly just big cats," Amanda qualified.

"We're supposed to be scared of pussycats?"

"This is Vulcan, doctor," Amanda said. "Sehlats are not quite teddybears. And the cats here--"

"Le-matya," Sarek corrected. "They are **very** large, very wild cats."

"Quite dangerous," Sivesh added. "On an average, thirteen point eight people die yearly from Le-matya attacks. Both teeth and claws are venomous. Many of the victims are off-worlders who fail to accede to the warnings about hiking in the desert without guides and protection."

"Vulcan. Your tourist destination," McCoy said, with an ironic brow.

"They often **are** tourists, yes," Sivesh said. "The Forge attracts a certain number of those on the 'planetary dare devil survivors' tour. I am called in sometimes to treat those who have suffered injuries."

"Cutting their tour somewhat short, I gather," McCoy drawled. "I've heard of them. Rich dilettantes, mostly. Seems an expensive and dangerous way to waste money, but I suppose collecting that sort of experience is like collecting stamps. Just more dangerous. And expensive."

"Stamps?" Sarek asked, turning to Amanda, brow raised.

"Sticky little bits of paper that used to be attached to paper correspondence, on Terra," Amanda clarified. "Obsolete."

"Unfortunately, Le-matya poison works very rapidly," Sivesh added. "It is far best to avoid the encounter."

"If that's so, I still don't get why you let them live outside your door?"

"They live in the mountain hills, Doctor," Sarek clarified. "They come down to the plains for game."

"Game being us? Can't they go somewhere else?" McCoy said.

Amanda chuckled. "Believe me, Doctor, I find it almost as incomprehensible as you at times. But Vulcans do live in a kind of truce situation with their wildlife."

"Well. I assure you, we didn't come here to be any big cat's dinner. Jim and I will not be risking any Le-mayta attacks, taking any midnight strolls."

"Speak for yourself, Bones," Kirk said lightly, but without much of a smile.

"Jim. Didn't you just hear--?"

"Bones, I make my living exploring the galaxy."

"Yeah, with a starship and a full security detail backing you up," McCoy said doubtfully. "Just because you're a Starship Captain doesn't give you invincible body armour. And you can't go toting a phaser in Spock's backyard."

"I'm sure Captain Kirk will take all reasonable precautions," Amanda said, fending off that argument.

"You're darn right he will," McCoy agreed, giving Kirk a look that said he would have kicked him on the ankle if he wasn't across the table from him. "I've got one seriously injured crewman on my hands. I don't need two."

Kirk flushed at that painful reminder.

"And speaking of that, Ambassador," McCoy said, "I wouldn't mind learning something of your medicine, while I'm here."

"Vulcan would be only too willing to extend our hospitality in that regard to you, Doctor," Sarek said equably, finally helping himself to lunch.

"Some of our techniques **do** require telepathic skills. But many do not," Sivesh added, following Sarek's lead. "There are other Earthmen in residence at our Academy of Medicine. Most are not telepaths."

"Certainly, Doctor, we can accommodate anything in that regard you might wish," Sarek offered.

"I would be honored to arrange a tour of the Academy of Medicine and the Healers' Enclave," Sivesh offered. "Perhaps tomorrow afternoon?"

"Perhaps just **one** a day," Amanda suggested. "I assure you, Doctor, from personal experience that you want to adjust to Vulcan **gradually**. Don't try a marathon tour of all our medical facilities in one day. You'd end up a patient then."

"That is true," Sivesh admitted.

"I would concur. Regrettably, neither one of those institutions, however august, are designed for human environmental conditions," Sarek said.

"But you can also visit our Terran medical center here, if you wish. That **will** have air conditioning," Amanda said.

"It is true that they see Vulcans as well, for techniques that Vulcans don't bother with, but can be useful in certain cases," Sivesh said, raising a brow. "I would not have thought of that."

"Now I would find that interesting," McCoy said. "Heaven knows I deal with my own resident Vulcan with just human techniques. Whatever they've found that is useful, I'd like to hear."

"And I'm sure there's at least one surgery that you must want to discuss with them," Amanda said smoothly.

"Then perhaps the Academy of Medicine tomorrow," Sivesh said. "And the others on subsequent days."

"I'll give Mark a call," Amanda offered. "My physician," she said to McCoy, "He's also the head of the Terran Medical Center here. He'll be happy to give you a tour. And I'll invite him to dinner. We ought to give a dinner party or two, while you all are here. In fact," she said with a mischievous smile at her husband, "when Spock is well, perhaps we might go to dinner at the Palace? I'm sure T'Pau would welcome seeing the Captain and Dr. McCoy again."

"I'd be honored," McCoy said. "And I'll try to hide the quaking of my boots."

"She's really not that bad," Amanda said.

"She wouldn't come here?" Kirk asked, his eyes narrowed.

"T'Pau very seldom dines out," Sarek said, pushing his finished plate away. "In general, one attends her, rather than the reverse. But I believe she will be amenable to such a visit from us. And while we have been concentrating on Dr. McCoy, if there is anything on Vulcan you would wish to see, Captain, we will certainly try to accommodate you."

"I hadn't considered anything sir, but I'll keep that in mind."

"Then if you will excuse me, gentlemen," Sarek said, as he rose, "I have several duties to which to attend."

"As do I," Sivesh said. "I will see you tomorrow, Doctor, shall we say at the twelfth hour?"

"I think that will do fine," McCoy said. "So long as Amanda here, tells me when that might be."

"If you've finished, I'll show you to your rooms," Amanda said. "And when you've refreshed yourselves, perhaps a tour of the house?"

"A questionable suggestion, my wife, given you can seldom venture far without getting lost yourself," Sarek said, half amused.

"I'll leave a trail of bread crumbs," Amanda teased back.

"Not these bread crumbs," McCoy said. "That was delicious."

"Sarek, I was just going to show them the parts **we** live in," Amanda went on. "I'll leave you to give them the full turret to dungeon tour. Or Spock, when he is up to it."

"Spare me the dungeons," McCoy said, shuddering. "I've seen enough of them in my Starfleet career.

"Then I'll have to change your room," Amanda teased. "Excuse us for a moment while we do that," Amanda went out with her husband. Watching then, McCoy could see Amanda had taken her husband's arm and before Sarek left, she leaned up against him to give him what looked suspiciously like a kiss.

"They're cute together, aren't they?" McCoy mused, smiling. "Who would have thought?"

"I don't know what you mean," Kirk said, who hadn't followed McCoy's gaze.

"Sarek. Amanda. Our hosts? Hello??? Jim, are you okay?"

"How could I not be in this charming environment?"

"You definitely didn't have the Kirk charm on during this meal," McCoy said, pointing at him accusedly with a utensil. "And you seem a little out of it. I'm beginning to worry about you. Now, you wouldn't wish that on me just when I'm starting to relax?"

"Not at all." Kirk said tightly. "Go enjoy yourself."

"Jim, I know this wasn't exactly your idea of shore leave. Yes, you had to give up your plans, and it was a disappointment."

"Is that what you call it?"

"Call it what you like, then. But you did come. Vulcan would never be my idea of shoreleave either. And I'm sure this isn't what they expected for a home leave visit from their son to find him in as bad a shape as he presently is. But it looks like our hosts are determined to make our stay as pleasant as can be. |Certainly they are rolling out the hospitality. And Spock's prognosis is good. We'll all trying to make the best of a not ideal situation. Except you, it seems."

"I'm here for Spock. And Spock alone."

"Do you think he'd appreciate your present behavior to his parents?"

"I haven't done anything."

"I'll say. But sulking in the corner isn't very adult, not to mention being very uncaptainlike. Can't you at least try to be pleasant?" Spock's parents hardly deserve this."

"What they deserve I'd hate to describe," Kirk said tightly.

"Now that is unfair, and I **am** going to call you on it. They haven't done anything, but wreck a shoreleave that they had no idea you planned. Jim, I've seen this go on long enough. I was hoping you'd pull yourself out of it, but you haven't and you're forcing me to speak."

"About what?"

"You've been impossible since Spock's rescue," McCoy said meaningfully, sitting back. "At least during his capture you were controlled, in command. But since you got him back, you've been acting as if the rescue still hasn't happened. You can't let go of crisis mode. You've been treating everyone around you – around him -- as if we were the enemy Klingons who were holding Spock prisoner. First Starfleet, the Starbase personnel, now Spock's parents. And me too."

"Not **you**, Bones.

"The fight is **over**, Jim," McCoy insisted, gesturing with a piece of bread. "He may not be on his feet yet, but he's **safe**. You can stand down. There aren't any enemies left."

Kirk's lip curled slightly. "I wish."

"I don't understand you," McCoy said crossly. He pushed his plate away, his appetite gone.

"Don't you see what is going on? Don't you find it suspicious, how suddenly Spock's parents can't do enough to welcome us?"

McCoy rubbed his brow. "Now you are starting to worry me, Jim. Why wouldn't they?"

"Why wouldn't they, indeed?"

"I'd say this Vulcan heat has fried your brain, except you've been like this since Spock was captured. Jim, I want you to straighten yourself out. Or I'm going to have to make a report on you."

"Well, if you feel you need to, then you just may have to do that, Doctor," Kirk said, "because I don't foresee my attitude, however you disapprove of it, changing." And rising abruptly, he went out through a side door into the gardens, leaving McCoy still sitting, open-mouthed at the now empty table.

_To be continued…._


	5. Chapter 5

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 5**

McCoy voted for the tour immediately after lunch saying "I've never known anyone who lived in a genuine castle before," and so they began, with Amanda warning them to let her know if they needed a break.

"It can take days to show the whole fortress, so we'll just hit the areas you're most likely to use. You must let me know if you become breathless or dizzy. I take care to keep acclimated to Vulcan as much as possible, since it's my home. But I know it can be very difficult for newly arrived visitors to adjust to both the temperature and the gravity at the same time. No casual transient should attempt too much the first week."

"I've got my trusty triox shots right here," McCoy said, patting his medikit.

They started back in the great hall. McCoy stood far back to get the best view of one of the huge tapestries. "Now don't tell me you didn't lift that from Earth. That has **got** to be St. George slaying the dragon."

Amanda tilted her head as if trying to see it through McCoy's eyes. "I suppose there are some similarities."

"So much for their being no dragons on Vulcan."

"Well," Amanda shrugged one delicate shoulder. "That's context, isn't it? The difference between horses and unicorns is not just the horn. Vulcans simply don't have the Terran mythology that fuels the whole dragon legend."

"To them, a horse is a horse," McCoy said. "Horns or not."

"Or a lizard is a lizard, regardless of wings. Or size."

"Mythology or not, dragons or lizards, those creatures still look pretty fierce to me. And darn big. I wouldn't care to meet one with its dander up on a dark night. Don't you think so, Jim?" McCoy tried to include Kirk in the conversation.

"Do they breathe photon torpedoes?" Kirk asked ironically. "That's the sort of danger I'm used to."

"They don't breathe fire, like legendary dragons," Amanda conceded, then added with a mischievous smile. "But they do breathe a sulfuric gas that collapse lungs."

"What is it about Vulcan and Vulcans that always try to go one better than anything or anyone around?" McCoy asked ruefully.

"The story of my life, Doctor. When you discover the answer, let me know," Amanda teased back.

"I am **so** glad you don't hide your smile," McCoy said, looking at her fondly.

"Why should I?" she asked, in surprise.

"I'll tell you: Before I met you, I wasn't sure what you'd be like. I was afraid you'd be one of those humans who try to become something they're not, just because they're living within – or admire – an alien culture. I've seen more than a few. Like that Jones woman, Jim, the Medusan Ambassador – remember?" McCoy turned back to Amanda. "I just thought that you'd try to be more Vulcan than Vulcans. Like someone else I could mention."

"I wasn't like that on the Enterprise."

"True. But that was an exceptional circumstance."

"There are such humans living here," Amanda admitted. "But I've never tried to be one of them. My husband married me, knowing I was human. For the most part, cultural blindspots aside, he doesn't expect me to be anything but. Just as I," she said meaningfully, "try not to expect him to be anything but very Vulcan."

"Touché," McCoy admitted. "I confess that's a failing of mine, advocating for good old human emotion."

"If Vulcans had only **human** emotions, perhaps they wouldn't need Vulcan disciplines to control them. That dragon--" she gestured to the tapestry with a graceful hand – "is a case in point. On Terra, such creatures are myth, legend. On Vulcan, they are very real, and equally deadly."

"No doubt. I've seen a few Vulcans with their dander up. **Including** that someone else."

"It has never been easy for Spock, though Sarek and I didn't plan for it to be that way. Spock did choose the Vulcan way, though it's hard to say if the child he was then could make that choice. But Sarek and I tried to do our best for him, however misguided we might have been at times. Spock was predominantly Vulcan, and Sarek strongly believed that as a Vulcan he needed those disciplines. I had come to accept that. I still do. I know Vulcans," she smiled at McCoy apologetically, "perhaps a little bit better than you, Doctor."

"Maybe control is best for them. But I still don't know how you stand living on a planet chock full of them. Believe me, just dealing with one every day -- in the person of that son of yours -- is often too much for me."

"Spock is a case unto himself," Amanda tilted her head again, this time looking back thirty years in time. "He could be quite trying, even as a small child. But in spite of how exasperating he can be," her eyes met his candidly, "I envy you those daily exasperations. I missed him terribly when he went off to Starfleet. I don't miss him any less, for all the time that has gone by. And I'm happy to have him back home, exasperating or not." As Kirk shifted, uncomfortable with this conversation, she turned serious, "To get back to the tour -- if either of you are interested in seeing the "dragons" -- from a safe distance, of course -- Sarek can arrange to take you to where they live. They are in a protected environmental area, because they can be quite dangerous. Exceptions are made, however. But it's nearer the equator, so you should give yourselves a few days to acclimate before venturing that far south."

"I'm not sure. I didn't come here to be eaten alive by the resident wildlife," McCoy said.

"It's quite safe. Even a popular tourist stop. You might as well see something of the planet while you are here."

"What do you say, Jim, up for playing Terry Tourist?" McCoy glanced at his Captain, again trying to draw him into the conversation.

"I'd rather wait for Spock to show me," Kirk said. His voice was mild, but the evenness of the tone was something of a snub in itself.

"Why don't we just continue the tour right here then?" Amanda suggested smoothly, clearly having made a decision to overlook Kirk's borderline churlishness, while McCoy shook his head at Kirk behind her back.

Up on the second floor, she showed them the wing that had been specially fitted out for outworlder guests, and their own two suites, with special environmental controls for temperature and humidity. They included a luxury for Starship officers normally limited to sonic showers, full water bath and shower facilities. Amanda suggested that since what humans suffered most from on Vulcan was the lack of humidity, they not hesitate to use them as opposed to the also available sonics.

"The water is recycled into the gardens, so there is no waste," she added.

"No arguments from me," McCoy said, eyeing the bathing facilities greedily. "That tub is big enough to go swimming in."

"We do have a swimming pool," Amanda offered, leading them along another corridor. "Sarek built it for me years ago. The water is rather warm, but it still is generally cooler than the air. Except at night when even the desert gets chilly."

"Chilly? Vulcan?"

"The air is so thin that the heat radiates right out of the atmosphere when the sun sets. Here in the mountain foothills the nights can be quite cold. But even then the pool is warm enough, from the sunlight on it during the day. Either way, it is very refreshing. You're welcome to use it whenever you like, of course. It's at the far end of the rose gardens."

"I've heard about those rose gardens," McCoy said. "We have some of your cuttings in the Enterprise's garden."

"Vulcans do like them as a snack," Amanda said. "Over the years, I have sent Spock a few of his favorites. I can't say I find much flavor in rose petals myself, but they are a luxury food crop here on Vulcan. Apart from their ornamental status, they bring in quite a profitable income."

"Jim likes roses too, don't you Jim?" McCoy said, striving to bring his captain into the conversation. "To look at, mind you."

"I like the Enterprise's rose garden," Kirk qualified.

Amanda drew a breath at this, and then bit her lips either to keep from smiling or making an untoward comment. After a moment she said, "Then I hope you'll enjoy the gardens here. Many of the roses are the same."

"Where is Spock's room?" Kirk asked instead.

"His rooms are on the topmost floor. They look out on the terrace gardens there."

"Then I think I'd rather have rooms on that floor."

"I'm sorry. I didn't think of that," she said, looking truly regretful. "But unfortunately there are no suitably equipped suites there. Most off-worlders don't care to climb so many stairs in heavy gravity."

"If that's the case, then it's probably not suitable for Spock, either, in his condition."

"We thought he'd be most comfortable in his own rooms."

"Then I can manage Vulcan conditions too. I've roughed it before."

Amanda still looked a bit non-plussed, but as she was about to answer, McCoy overrode her. "I wouldn't call Spock's rooms roughing it, Jim, not for him. As for us, Amanda, we're very grateful for your hospitality. The rooms you've shown us will more than do, both for Captain Kirk and myself. Isn't that right, Jim?"

"If Captain Kirk prefers--" Amanda began.

"No. Captain Kirk does not." McCoy shot Kirk a significant look. "I've got one patient on my hands; I don't need two."

Amanda waited to see if Kirk would counter him, looking between the two, but when Kirk said nothing, tight-lipped and silent, she let it go.

They went up and up through the house. Amanda showed them the library and media center, serried rows of Terran paper books shelved in stacks on one side, with ancient Vulcan texts on the other, and all the latest technological media bells and whistles in between.

"Wow," McCoy said. "I'm almost sorry I committed so much of my time to Vulcan medicine. This looks like a treat. Almost enough old fashioned paper books for you, eh, Jim?"

"It's a fantastic collection," Kirk admitted, softening like the hard-core book lover he was as he fingered the gold tooling along the antique spine of one classic.

"You are, of course, welcome to browse and read whatever you like." She led them to the terrace outside, pointed out the windows of Spock's suite, and then took them on a tour of the rooftop gardens. "This is one of Sarek's favorite spots," she said, as they passed an ancient stone sentry box that gave on a sweeping view of the desert sands, with Shikahr in the southeast and the huge spine of the Llangon mountains arching like a dragon's back to the right.

"It must give quite a starfield view at night," Kirk said.

"It does. He prefers to meditate to a star view rather than the more traditional flames. Except in winter, during sandstorms."

"I'll wager Spock first got his wanderlust for space looking at this starview. You probably had to chase him back to bed," McCoy said.

Amanda tilted her head again. "Actually, no. Spock was mischievous when he was little, but he became very, very disciplined as a teen. He was too busy with his studies to spend time stargazing. And he generally meditates to the more traditional fire flames." She looked over at her guests. "As for his decision to go to Starfleet, it took Sarek and me completely by surprise. I can't say we fully understand it even now."

"Perhaps especially now," McCoy said. "That would be only natural, given the circumstances. Well, now that he's home, perhaps there's time for a little discussion on that topic. Not right away, of course."

"Bones," Kirk said, alarmed by the turn the conversation was going.

But Amanda ignored the opening, and gestured over the parapet. "You can see some of the gardens and coolhouses below." She glanced at a chronometer on her wrist. "I'd take you on a tour of them, but I think that will take too much time right now. You might just prefer to wander through and explore them on your own. For now, I'll leave you two to get settled in your rooms. And then if the healers are correct, it will be time for Spock to waken."

The healers were not quite correct. Though Sivesh arrived in proper time to bring Spock out of trance, he was many minutes alone with Spock trying to effect Spock's awakening. Sarek had arrived and joined the group waiting in the anteroom of Spock's suite for the healer to reappear, but the minutes passed and the healer did not. Instead two other healers arrived from the Academy of Medicine and the Healer's Enclave, summoned by Sivesh. Sarek exchanged an unfathomable look with Amanda as the minutes ticked on and the healers failed to extricate Spock from the trance. McCoy looked professionally calm. Then the group of healers asked McCoy in, who reflexively patted the medical kit perpetually strapped to his hip and disappeared. After another quarter of an hour, McCoy reappeared, rubbing his forehead. He looked from Sarek to Amanda to Kirk thoughtfully a moment, a judicious evaluating gleam in his eye, then asked Amanda to come in. He gestured Kirk, who had anxiously risen up, back down and said, "Give us a few more minutes."

Sarek rose and went to the windows, staring out meditatively at the distant mountains. Kirk chewed his lip and mentally cursed all Vulcan healers. After a few minutes, McCoy reappeared. "He's out of trance."

"Is he…well?" Sarek asked.

McCoy shrugged. "Well enough, considering his condition. He's very weak. I don't think your healers will be trying any more trances for a while. Not until his condition has stabilized a bit.

"I see," Sarek said.

"Can **we** see him?" Kirk asked.

"He's not up to a lot of talking, but you can say hello." The healers came out, crowding the doorway, looking equally puzzled.

"I would not have thought to try that." Sivesh said, looking at McCoy with some trace of respect in his otherwise controlled countenance.

"An old G.P. trick. General practitioner," he qualified, since the Vulcans surrounding him, Sarek included, only looked puzzled. "No matter how far away they are, kids almost **always** hear their mother's voice. And come back if they possibly can."

"Come back?" Sarek asked.

"Yeah. From fevers, coma. Or in this case, even a Vulcan trance."

Sarek hesitated, a question still in his mind he seemed reluctant to put in words. "Doctor?"

McCoy shrugged. "Three weeks in Klingon hands, Sarek. You know they used the mindsifter on him. Then after he was rescued, Starfleet put him through their version of an interrogation. He's spent too long fighting to keep up his mental shields, to keep Starfleet's secrets. And to keep his mind from being ripped to shreds. You can't blame Spock for refusing to budge out of that trance until he was absolutely convinced it was safe. He fought to stay in it as hard as your healers were struggling to get him out. And they were virtual strangers to him. He was wary."

"But…" Sarek seemed truly puzzled. "**You** spoke to him."

McCoy hesitated. "The Klingons had recordings of the Captain's voice. Mine, too. No doubt they tricked him before when he had retreated behind shields. They also used drugs and other methods to drag him into consciousness. So he was bound to be reluctant. But I was betting Klingons would never have thought of Amanda. Between her voice and the other subliminal cues of gravity and so on, he was willing to believe he really was on Vulcan -- enough to risk coming out of trance to check."

"It was fortunate you thought of it," Sivesh said. "He had retreated far too deeply. His tenacity to stay within trance was quite startling."

"Being tortured by Klingons, you learn to develop tenacity," McCoy said dryly, "or you don't survive. But I believe he would eventually have come out of trance on his own. I hope so, anyway."

"We are not used to dealing with these sorts of trauma cases," Sivesh admitted.

Sarek was looking from one to the other of the medical men, Vulcan and human. "With this new development, is there anything else you believe that he requires to effect his recovery?"

"Just be patient with him Sarek." He eyed the Vulcan skeptically, as if evaluating the Vulcan's abilities in that regard. "And then when you think you've been more patient than you have ever been with him before, be twice as patient. I can't stress how important it is, to give him that space to come back on his own. Now go on before he falls asleep again. I'm sure he'll want to see you. I want him to, so that he understands he really is home. That this isn't some drug induced hallucination."

Sarek took a step to the door, arrested in the next moment by McCoy's call.

"Sarek." The Vulcan turned. "Remember to keep it light. No questions. Not at this stage." At the Vulcan's raised brow, he added. "Whenever you deal with him, keep remembering he was tortured and interrogated. His response to even the most innocuous questions is going to be very reflexive right now. A rapid mental retreat, battening down all his shields. We don't want to risk any regression or setbacks. So small talk only. Just chatter around him and let him get his bearings." He gave the Vulcan that skeptical gaze again. "Do Vulcans understand small talk?"

"I am sure his mother will see that I do," Sarek said.

"Just five minutes, for now."

Sarek nodded and went through the door.

Kirk started after them, but McCoy caught his arm. Kirk looked back, impatient. "Bones--"

"Give them their time, Jim. Spock's not up to too many people at once."

"Are you saying he's not up to having **me** around?"

"I just think we need to keep the numbers down at the moment."

"I think he'd expect to see me. That it would reassure him."

"It will. But I'm sure his parents can do that for him too."

"He's barely seen them for twenty years."

"Well, a little home leave might be just what he needs right now."

"What if it isn't? If he'd been all that happy here, he wouldn't have gone into Starfleet."

"That's past history. His parents seem pretty willing now to make amends for old mistakes."

"Now is a little late."

"Or it's right in time. Spock's not a child, Jim. He doesn't need you to fight his battles here. Though he could use a safe harbor for a change. I'm betting on that this visit could be that, and if it is, that's going to be very good for him."

"What if you guess wrong?"

McCoy raised an ironic brow. "I'm not a bad shrink. You don't usually argue with my professional assessments when it comes to the health of the crew. And I've yet to see **your** medical degree."

"Just remember, it's not only your gamble, Bones."

"Spock needs this closure with his parents. And this looks like his chance to get it. It may not be the most opportune time for them or him --"

"Exactly. He's weak, drugged, traumatized--"

"I just meant he's not the best **company** right now. He's not up to a real visit. But it's still good for him to be home. And in the Fleet, you take what home leave you can get."

"We weren't planning on home leave."

"I thought you had gotten over that disappointment."

"I just would have expected a little more loyalty from my Chief Surgeon."

McCoy's brow wrinkled. "Loyalty. What do you mean?" His eyes narrowed. "Whose gamble exactly are you concerned about?"

Amanda came out through the door, followed by Sarek, both looking subdued.

"Everything all right?" McCoy turning from Kirk to them, replacing his annoyed look with a professional smile.

"He's sleeping again," Amanda said. "He's very tired."

"Give him some time," McCoy said reassuringly. "I had given him a little stimulant to help him out of that trance. While it did the trick, I think it exhausted him." He turned to the healers. "I recommend we skip the extensive healing trances for a few days. They may work for a Vulcan in otherwise good condition. But Spock just doesn't have the stamina for that kind of marathon effort right now. And I think we need to give him a chance to acclimate to his surroundings."

"I concur," Sivesh said, as the three healers reappeared. "Perhaps I over-estimated his condition before. My experience is more with acute trauma."

McCoy shrugged. "With Spock being a law until himself, not to mention the situations a Starfleet officer can get into, I'm also forced into trying my best guesses and seeing how they work. As Spock's parents can attest." He added, with a glance at them. "I'm sure Vulcan healing techniques will speed his healing – I've seem him use them before himself, with amazing results. But we're obviously going to have to stagger them between normal recovery periods. He's a little fragile to get too ambitious just yet."

"Can't I see him?" Kirk asked, with gritted patience.

"Unfortunately, he's not conscious, Captain," Sivesh said.

"Bones--"

"Go and look in on him, Jim, if it will make you easier in your mind," McCoy said, understanding the emotional need as the Vulcan healer could not. "Try not to disturb him though – just one look and come back out."

Kirk's mouth tightened, but he went in and soon was back out again looking sober. Then McCoy went to sit with Spock, saying he'd monitor him until the Vulcan woke again. Amanda promised to send up refreshment, and told McCoy to be sure to ask for anything he might want or need.

Before dinnertime, McCoy came downstairs, saying that Spock was awake and much better, lucid and, of all things, hungry, though given his skeletal frame, perhaps that shouldn't have been too surprising. He deemed Spock was up to a combined visit, if it didn't last too long. Amanda put a tray together so that Spock didn't have to eat alone "on display" so to speak, and they all trooped up.

McCoy had helped Spock to a chair before a low table, knowing a Starfleet officer in a post captivity position would feel more comfortable receiving visitors, even friends and family, outside of bed.

As his visitors arrived, Spock visibly tensed just a little, a remnant of the weeks when the arrival of such a delegation meant a new torture session. In spite of his reflexive response, he then visibly controlled his reaction, dropping his shoulders and evening his breathing. His visitors, including Sarek, previously cued by McCoy, entirely ignored the slight breach in his control, as thoroughly as if it had never happened.

"I hope you're hungry, Spock," Amanda said, as she entered, as casually as if Spock was home for any normal leave. "T'Rueth has been cooking for days, preparing all your favorite foods."

"I must say," McCoy laid a reassuring hand on the First Officer's shoulder, "with cooking like this, I wonder that you ever left home. This is a real treat from the reconstituted mess we are usually served on ship."

"Unfortunately, **before** Spock left for Starfleet, we didn't have T'Rueth," Amanda slid her tray onto the low table and Sarek followed up behind her with another tray of beverages. "My cooking compares **very** unfavorably to hers."

"Not at all," Sarek said. He began pouring out glasses.

"Speaks the renowned diplomat," Amanda teased. "Now you know why he gets paid the big bucks."

"I don't believe the minor honorarium a Federation Ambassador receives could be characterized as big bucks," Sarek demurred.

"I bet it beats a CMO's salary," McCoy teased back, feeling Spock begin to relax under this innocuous chatter that demanded nothing from him. "Whatever it comes to, you manage to serve quite a nice table on it."

"When T'Rueth first came to work for us," Amanda said to her other guests, "she served up a virtual banquet at every meal. She made me feel **very** small indeed."

"You **are** much smaller than her, my wife."

"I meant, in cooking skills," Amanda said at this literalness, rolling her eyes slightly, as McCoy gave her a commiserating glance. "She used to head the kitchens at T'Pau's palace," she explained to her guests.

"A palace, huh?" McCoy put a glass in Spock's hand, helping him drink with the long practice of one used to dealing casually with invalids. "Spock, I think you've been holding out on me. I'm beginning to think you're some sort of long lost prince."

"He's not lost anymore," Amanda said, with feeling. "And he's going to stay found."

Kirk, who had settled gingerly into a chair and had been reaching for a glass, drew back just a bit and met her gaze. From the expression on her face, Amanda hadn't intended her statement to be taken quite as Kirk had taken it, but then she tossed her head a bit, and met his eyes with a challenging gaze of her own. Sarek and McCoy looked between the two of them.

Spock looked up from his drink, glancing around the group, puzzled at the sudden lull in conversation. "I assure you, Doctor, I am neither lost nor a prince."

"Spock is correct. Vulcan does not have the equivalent of Terran royalty," Sarek said helping to end the suddenly pregnant silence.

Amanda rolled her eyes at this, and took him up on his lead. "It makes a good line, but he didn't in the least let me in for what I was getting into, in marrying him."

McCoy grinned back. "Everyone on Vulcan lives in castles and palaces?" he teased, reaching to fill his plate.

"There may be no divine right of kings, but you must admit, my husband, that Vulcan **has** something of a hereditary meritocracy," Amanda said to Sarek.

"Certainly there are advantages, as well as disadvantages, to family responsibilities," Sarek said, as his gaze fell and lingered on his son.

Spock looked up at that. Recognizing the conversation was turning to dangerous waters, McCoy turned the subject. "Tell me more about the disadvantages that await me from your not-so-friendly wildlife, if I step outside your gates."

Sarek willingly took the cue, and began to discuss the habits of lematya.

Spock managed to finish a good quarter of what Sarek ate in the same meal, and McCoy pronounced him on the mend.

The healers grew optimistic as well, and in the days that followed, things settled into a definite routine. McCoy carried out his plan to learn as much Vulcan medicine as possible. Amanda seemed to teach at the Academy most days, but was usually back by early afternoon. Sarek also came and went on Vulcan Council and Federation business. During the day his presence or absence could not be predicted, but he was usually back by late afternoon. Even Spock could be said to be busy, for the diligence in which he pursued his recovery meant he was frequently in light healing trances.

Kirk would never have admitted it to anyone, but he was lonely. Even when the others were home, he took little pleasure in his associates, except for Spock. Haunted by guilt and worry, watching Spock struggle to regain basic functionality, even his time with Spock was troubling.

But Spock needed privacy for trances, and that threw Kirk on his own devices.

He spent a lot of time wandering through Spock's home. Fortunately, its size made that a considerable diversion, and limited some of the cabin fever he might otherwise have experienced. There was a surprising level of security around the place. Perhaps not so surprising, given Sarek's prominence in Federation affairs. Still the place was surrounded by force shields, with huge Vulcan guards at every entrance. Far from being armed with ancient weapons, they had fully functional phasers on their hips, and sophisticated security scanners to go along with their weapons. Though they were polite and professional, Kirk recognized they would be equally lethal in the right circumstance. Guest though he might be, there was no give in their manner toward him. They scoped Kirk out just as he scoped them out. It was clear they hadn't written him off as someone to watch. That was probably true for any stranger who came in contact with Sarek, though Kirk noted they soon seemed to regard McCoy with benign tolerance. But they remained as wary of Kirk as he was of them. Perhaps their wariness was cloned from his. They regarded each other with the caution of professional warriors, and neither of them was entirely happy with the other's presence.

Inside the Fortress, other Vulcan staff were present, but hard to find. The gardens kept several Vulcans busy and he interested for a few days. He found formal gardens full of fountains, (the symbol of Vulcan wealth, he supposed,) statues, and bedded-out plants in geometric designs. There were working gardens full of cuttings and seedlings obviously destined eventually for the formal gardens; kitchen gardens with prosaic rows of vegetables, cutting flowers, and herbs; wild gardens with Terran perennials and climbing roses fighting the Vulcan natives for space in the herbaceous borders. He even found rows of air-conditioned coolhouses, the Vulcan equivalent of greenhouses, where he discovered the source of the lettuce and snow peas he'd been eating at dinner. Others were full of fruit trees from half a dozen worlds. Vulcans being vegetarians, horticulture was probably a logical 'obsession'.

However logical the reasons, the effect was definitely ornamental. He'd always been fond of gardens. Since he usually had his mind on other things during shoreleave, he generally had to be content with the rather meager resources of the Enterprise's conservatory. Even in the heart of his discontent, he felt a delicious sense of possession about exploring them alone. But he would have wished for Spock to be well enough to share them with him.

But apart from missing Spock, exploring the house was something during which he preferred solitude, because, harden his heart as he would against it, the scale of the place still shocked him. He prowled through it determined not to be impressed, to find it alien, uncomfortable and ugly, and then he would walk through a doorway and be struck with the richness of tapestries, the beauty of murals, the elegant juxtaposition of space and light, all set against views that, were they not of Vulcan, he would have called beautiful.

He'd seen beautiful homes before, had stayed in castles and palaces as a Federation representative, but he'd never felt this sense of awe, had never felt small in comparison, even when that had been the intended effect. They had simply been piles of stone, occasionally beautiful, but when they weren't intended as historical monuments or diplomatic tools, (useful, working things), they'd always seemed rather dissipated to him, and he'd felt superior to the people within. But no one was dissipated in this house of industry, diplomatic impression was not its main function, no one carted tour groups through it, (though he understood tour groups did visit certain sections of the gardens), no bureaucratic stuffed shirts had taken it over to administer from it. Its few inhabitants simply lived in it, took it for granted like it was some Iowa farmhouse, and wore its elegance and majesty like a familiar garment.

It bothered him intensely that this pile of stone was, or would eventually, be Spock's. He couldn't help comparing the acres of gardens against the Enterprise's rather bare and grubby conservatory, its choice hothouse fruit against Starfleet's reconstituted fare, the life of intellectual pursuits, leisure and ease Spock could step into as easily as shedding a science blue Starfleet uniform; and he felt sick at the prospect.

He felt sure that's what Sarek and Amanda had in mind, in bringing Spock home.

What had he, or the Enterprise to offer in comparison? She was a beautiful ship. He would take her in a moment if given a choice. And she had been Spock's home for fourteen years. But the Enterprise was his obsession, never Spock's. And truth be told, the Enterprise wasn't his, but Starfleet's.

No. Whatever kept Spock in Starfleet, it wasn't the love of a ship, even a ship like the Enterprise. It that had been it, Spock would have taken a command long ago.

But with the memory of Spock's recent capture and torture, he wasn't sure anything short of the equivalent of his own passion for command would counterweight that experience. Spock's old home suddenly seemed only too attractive, even to him, in comparison.

Later that afternoon he was in Spock's suite, watching as Spock dressed to go 'out' for the first time since his return home. Ostensibly he was there, as always, to keep Spock company. But he also couldn't help evaluating every look and action of Spock's for its true intention. Was Spock truly glad to be home, seeing it in a different light, perhaps comparing Starfleet unfavorably to it? Spock at 36, fresh from Klingon hands, bruised and battered and perhaps travel weary, might see his old home quite differently than he did at a probably rebellious 17. Kirk studied him anxiously. But he couldn't tell.

Barefoot and short-sleeved in the Vulcan warm sunshine, too thin, incongruous, to Kirk's eyes, out of the familiar Starfleet uniform Kirk had almost always seen him wearing, trying to brush his too long hair into some kind of order, for it was overdue for cutting, Spock seemed totally oblivious to the fact that the mirror he was looking into wasn't in his quarters on the Enterprise. After four days largely confined to bed or a chair in his suite, he now wanted to go out, wanted fresh air, sunshine, a change in view, and he was getting it, even if out merely meant walking 50 feet and through glass doors to his own bedroom's balcony, with Kirk there to make sure he didn't pass out from the strain, and McCoy's adjurations not to sit up too long. Kirk smiled fondly as Spock settled in a chaise lounge and looked out at the distant Llangons with perfect contentment.

"It's the same view you know," Kirk said.

"It is not." Spock raised an eyebrow and then closed his eyes and settled back. "One gets an entirely different perspective from out here."

"Especially with your eyes closed."

Eyes still closed, Spock threw a pillow with devastating accuracy. Kirk yelped and grinned. Even here, he had fleeting moments of happiness.

But later, watching Spock sleep and the birds squabble around the feeders in the gardens below, Kirk felt plagued by the questions he couldn't dare ask, neither as a Captain, nor as a friend.

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 6**

McCoy spent an hour or so alone with Spock every morning, ostensibly checking on his physical condition. Kirk knew, though -- and so did Spock if he cared to dwell on it -- that something much more critical was going on in those daily sessions. McCoy would eventually have to certify Spock fit for duty again. Not just physically, but mentally and 'emotionally', if that word could be applied to a Vulcan.

Any Starfleet officer who'd spent more than a few days in enemy hands, especially someone like Spock, who had command training and was a life away from command of a starship, would have to take and pass all the mental and psychological fitness tests again. Starfleet had released him conditionally, pending that resolution. Until then he was on inactive status. He could not return to the bridge of a Starship, even if he wanted to, until the Chief Surgeon cleared and reinstated him as fully fit for duty.

In their daily sessions, McCoy would be probing, in a round-about psychologist's way, to find out if Spock would have trouble passing any of those tests and hurdles before they were officially administered. Essentially to see if there were any weak places in Spock's tentatively regained mental state. He would be also going through the events of Spock's captivity when the First Officer was strong enough to handle those discussions. Starfleet had done that once. Their interest had been purely global, the security of the institution. In that regard their ruthlessness to explore what their officer might have said under torture had done Spock more harm than good. But that had been a necessary evil. McCoy's investigation would be concentrating on Spock's future viability, as an officer and a person. Could he stand up to an encounter with Klingons and react appropriately? Could he face the prospect of future capture and torture? Could he handle the stress of Command, risk the lives and security of the 430 crewmembers on the ship, and the security of the Federation, in some future confrontation, either with Klingons or anyone else?

If they had been on the Enterprise, Kirk would have tried to bully McCoy into some kind of admission about Spock's status. As it was, he just fretted over it, and watched both McCoy and Spock for any clues. What made it worse was that along with Spock had been rescued a whole library of information the Klingons had gathered on breaking Vulcans and Romulans, which they apparently had been using against Spock, a cookbook of horror. McCoy had been dividing his attention between going through this material for Starfleet with the VMA, hardly a pleasant task, and his more normal medical pursuits. Kirk felt that information could only prejudice him.

Today, McCoy's morning session was running late, hardly a good sign. Kirk paced in Spock's outer reception room, where they'd all had dinner that first day. When the minutes dragged on long after the session should have ended, he stood by the inner door and listened. There was no sound. He tapped, and there was no answer. He looked around the reception room he was in – it was comfortably furnished, but had nothing of the personal tone of Spock's own rooms -- and its blandness irritated him. He suddenly couldn't stand to be in it any longer. He opened the door to Spock's main workroom, where McCoy often held his session, for like most Starfleet shrinks, he preferred not to carry out unpleasant treatments in a recovered officer's resting area, either sickbay bed or quarters. In that respect Starfleet held a uniform policy, where possible, that a crewmember fresh from a torture situation should have one absolute "safe" spot, free from medical procedures or debriefings. But the workroom was empty too.

At one end was the door to Spock's bedroom. Kirk doubted McCoy would be there. If Spock wasn't well enough to leave his sleeping quarters, McCoy wouldn't have held a session. But running the length of both rooms were full length windows and doors to the long terrace/balcony outside. Kirk could hear the faint drawl of McCoy's voice from the balcony off Spock's bedroom. Now that he looked, he could see the back of McCoy's head. The cooler morning air, and McCoy's adjustment to the planet must have made him willing to relocate outside. No doubt he thought Spock would feel less confined out there too. The surgeon was seated, but leaning forward in his chair as he talked to Spock, one hand outstretched. The words were indistinct though and Spock himself was outside of Kirk's line of vision.

Kirk knew he shouldn't be here. Spock's psych evaluation was purely a Medical Section issue. Command had no weight, even though many command officers bristled at the notion that shrinks, who had never conned a bridge in a battle situation, should have such power over who served and who didn't. But waiting here was really no different than waiting anywhere else, so long as he didn't overhear what was going on. He told himself he had no intention of doing that.

He studied Spock's rooms unwillingly instead. He had, from the very first day, tried not to see them. He wouldn't have minded if they'd been a sparse and bare little cubicle, or a severely sterile and functional work space. Unfortunately, even to Kirk's prejudiced eyes, they could only be regarded as the comfortable and well appointed rooms of a much loved and pampered child. It wasn't just the space, though the bath and dressing room alone were the size of Spock's quarters on the Enterprise. There were musical instruments of many kinds, astronomical instruments, books galore, several different types of chess sets and similar games of mental skill and of course, computers. Over Spock's desk was a Tenniel print from Alice in Wonderland, showing Tweedledum and Tweedledee and captioned with the quote "Contrariwise, if it was so, it might be, and if it were so, it would be, but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic."

Kirk would have suspected, based on his first encounter with Sarek on the Enterprise, at least before the events of his heart operation, that **that** intolerant Sarek would have removed such an abomination to logical thought from the wall and burned it in a meditation flame rather than have it contaminating his son's workspace, the very place where he studied the Vulcan disciplines. But that Sarek apparently had not always been this Sarek. For the print was there. And there were other signs.

Spock has a huge room for sleeping, another to work and study in, and another with a huge stone fireplace that seemed to serve as a den. Obviously, in a place this size, space wasn't at a premium, and Vulcans were a notoriously privacy-conscious race, who apparently appreciated the value of personal space. And he wouldn't have expected Sarek to spare any expense in educating his only son and heir*, or fail to provide for him in any way that could be detrimental to his development. But even accounting for Amanda's probable influence, he still had to accept that Sarek had allowed Amanda's touches, had not overtly denied his son any obvious need.

He had come into this home wanting to hate the place. Not because of any real animosity between himself and Spock's parents. When they had left the ship at Babel, Spock and Sarek had seemed to have made some real steps toward tolerance, if not understanding. No, when he'd been sidetracked from his own leave plans to Vulcan, he had simply been hating everything and everyone that had stood between him and the quickest path he had believed would lead to Spock's recovery – and the assuaging of his own guilt. He wished he had some obvious evidence for why he could hate it now. Now he felt the very real possibility that Spock might recover, but that he might lose him anyway. Not to Klingons, but to Vulcan.

He knew Spock had been unhappy here once. Had he not heard, from Spock himself, that on Omicron Ceti Three, for the first time in his life, he had been happy?

But then again, that implied he had never been happy on the Enterprise, either.

And to be entirely fair, he certainly couldn't have been happy, being mind-sifted by Klingons.

He told himself, over and over again, that such events were part and parcel of the risks of the service. It hadn't been his fault. Spock had fallen in enemy hands before. He had been tortured before. He'd never left Starfleet. He'd never died. He had always passed his reinstatement tests with flying colors, and come back, relatively unscathed.

But then he hadn't believed himself welcome at home, either.

Now with Sarek laying out a lavish red carpet, he certainly couldn't fail to understand how that situation had changed. After Klingon torture, and Starfleet's ruthless followup interrogation, might not Vulcan suddenly seem a better logical choice?

That was certainly part of what was fueling Kirk's worries. He could think of a lot of reasons why Spock might want to leave Fleet. He couldn't, so far, think of one reason why he would find this place not a safe and welcoming harbor.

Amanda was right in one respect. He could command without Spock. No way would he give up command. But in some respects, Spock **was** the Enterprise to him. After fourteen years as second and first officer, fourteen years as Science Officer, Spock's hand was everywhere in that ship. He was as much the Enterprise to Kirk as the ship herself.

A First Officer traditionally ran the day to day workings of a ship, while the Captain's eyes looked outward, to the mission, to his orders. Even as Scotty was her engines, Spock was the ship's smooth functioning, personified. Commanding the Enterprise without Spock would be like commanding a different ship, or at least, commanding without his right hand.

He knew, intellectually, that not even Spock was indispensable. But it would be the end of the best era of his life to lose him, and he would grieve immeasurably if that came to pass, particularly if it came through a failed mission. Added to the grief he already felt over Spock's torture and near death, he wasn't sure how well **he** could come back from that circumstance.

And that was something he wanted to keep from McCoy, at all costs.

Outside the balcony, McCoy rose, and Kirk could see him help Spock lay back on the lounge chair, throw a covering over him, put a hand on his shoulder. Clearly the session had not gone well.

In a few moments, McCoy came out from the balcony, through Spock's bedroom and into the outer workroom. He drew up, frowning at Kirk's presence. "You're going to have to come back later, Jim. Spock needs to rest now."

"What happened? What did you say to him? What did you **do**?" Kirk asked tightly.

McCoy raised an eyebrow and ignored the questions. "Jim. You know you're not supposed to be prowling around here while I'm working with Spock. Come on. Let's get some breakfast."

Kirk followed McCoy into the hallway, but stopped outside and squared off. Somewhere below the sound of Amanda's voice reached them, carelessly singing the words of a French song.

McCoy turned around reluctantly.

"Bones. You need to tell me."

"Tell you what?" McCoy said evasively, avoiding his eyes.

"How he really is."

McCoy shook his head. "It's waaaaay too early for this discussion, Jim."

"It's apparently not too early for you to torture him with an interrogation of your own."

"I'm going to ignore that, Captain." McCoy moved to go around him.

"I don't want you to." Kirk moved to block McCoy's way.

McCoy sighed. "Jim. What can you expect of him -- or of me -- at this stage? How should he be? He's well enough for his level of recovery."

"What the hell does **that** mean?"

"That's all I can say. Don't push, Jim."

"I can't believe you'd ever consider downgrading Spock."

McCoy straighted suddenly, his eyes narrowed. "I'll do my duty, Captain. As you've done yours."

"What's do you mean by **that**?" Below them the sound of a door opened and closed – the garden court door, and Amanda must have entered, for her voice, still singing in French, echoed lightly in the corridor below. She had a basket of roses in one hand, and her arms full of another bundle. Both officers tensed, and moved back against the stairway out of her sight, but then she went through another door into the kitchens and her voice faded.

"Stop taking everything as a referendum on that mission, or of your captaincy." McCoy spoke in an undertone, looking around as if suddenly aware of their position, and trying to keep his voice from carrying in the echoing stair. "Jim, Starfleet is right. How Spock does has nothing whatsoever to do with you. You need to step back."

"Damn it, you make me feel like a third wheel here."

"That's because you're interfering where you shouldn't. You've no place in this part of Spock's therapy. My first responsibility is to Spock as a patient. Then as an officer."

"Are you telling me to go back to the Enterprise?"

"If you can't handle this, maybe you should. You won't do Spock any good fretting yourself over what has to be. Spock has problems enough without having to worry about you. Right now, he doesn't have much attention to spare for anything but getting well. He doesn't need the burden of your expectations and demands."

"I'm not a burden!"

"Aren't you? You should either accept the limitations of your role here, or go."

"I'm his Captain. And his friend."

"Precisely. You're not his mother or his father or his nurse, Jim. And you're not his captain here. You're just a friend."

"Just. That sounds rather Vulcan of you, Doctor. Sure you're not going native?"

"I know Spock can't use a friend every minute of the day. His number one priority is his recovery, not assuaging your guilt." When Kirk flinched, McCoy raised a brow. "Yes, guilt." He stepped back, wiping his brow in the warm Vulcan air and visibly calming down, striving for a reasonable tone. "Look, Jim. I know how you get. I've always appreciated your dedication to your crew. And you've been through a bad time too. I've been giving you space to get over it, on your own if you can. We all have to get over what happened, not just Spock. We're all trying."

"I've noticed how everyone is busy." Kirk said tightly.

McCoy raised a brow again. "You say that as if it were a crime. Do you expect us all to sit around his bedside, holding his hand and looking anxious, for weeks? What possible good could that do? How do you think that would make him feel?"

Kirk was stubbornly silent.

McCoy sighed. "I know you're feeling guilty about Spock, Jim. But you have got to let it go. Keep this up, and you're going to force me to take official notice of your behavior. To make a log entry on you. One Starfleet is not going to be happy to see – they are already chary over your actions after Spock's rescue. Don't make me make things worse for all of us. I don't want to do that."

"Don't threaten me, Doctor."

McCoy put out a hand, that same hand that had tried to comfort Spock after the last psych session, but Kirk stepped away from it. McCoy lowered his hand, and as Amanda could be heard approaching, his voice. "Listen to me, Jim. You have lost perspective. A particular failing of yours, at times. But it's one easily solved. I have other things I'm working on. His parents are giving him plenty of space, not putting any demands on him. I couldn't be happier with how things are going there. And Spock's recovery is going to have some setbacks, but even that is reasonable given his level of trauma. Only you hang around this place every minute, short-tempered and long-faced, demanding he snap back immediately into the officer and friend he was to you before. I'm not putting up with this any longer. You had better find something to do the majority of the day, or I'll send you away myself."

Below, the door opened and Amanda came back out, still singing. She'd gotten rid of her basket, but her arms were still laden, and she walked down a short corridor below into Sarek's ground floor office. Both men were silent a moment, waiting until the door closed behind her. McCoy shook his head, calming himself. "If you'll excuse me, Captain, I have an appointment at the Academy of Medicine."

Kirk didn't move out of his way. "To go over that mindsifter material?"

McCoy paused. "To assist in a cardiac operation, if you must know. Jim, I'm going to say this one more time. You have become obsessed. I was giving you space, because even as it is too early to expect Spock to fully recover; it's just as early for you. I admire your dedication, your friendship for Spock. But since you can't seem to mange to separate yourself from this situation, I'm telling you. I want you out of this house, today. Take Sarek up on his invitation to tour Vulcan Space Central. Do some Starfleet recruiting. Take in the sights of Shikhar – I understand there's a Terran Enclave community there that's quite extensive. Mostly diplomatic, but a lot of trade people too."

"Trade has always been my first interest." Kirk said, sarcasm thinly veered.

"I don't care what interest you indulge in, so long as you find one outside of this house."

"Spock will need someone to spend the afternoon with. You don't suggest I leave him alone – as everyone else around here seems to."

"He'll be sleeping for hours yet. All right. I'll compromise. You can go out now and be back by early afternoon. That will give you time to set something up for the whole day tomorrow. Before I leave I'll talk to Amanda about having someone else around to spend the day with Spock. There are a whole slew of people whom she's been putting off visiting him waiting until he was more up to it. And I suspect she's trying not to upset you, since you can barely budge yourself from his side. But tomorrow someone else **will** keep Spock company, all day, and you **will** go out for the whole day and try to regain your perspective. That's a medical order."

"I'm on leave, Doctor. You can't give me orders."

"My medical authority is pretty encompassing, Captain. I suggest you don't test the extent of it. Now, good day to you, sir."

McCoy brushed past him down the stairs.

"Bones!" Kirk called out in exasperation, forgetting how the stairwell would magnify his voice. McCoy ignored him.

Sarek came out of the corridor on the landing of his own suite, one floor below and gave Kirk a curious glance upwards, before saying to McCoy as he passed him. "Good morning, Doctor. Captain," he added, looking up at Kirk.

Amanda came out of Sarek's study, her bundle of roses diminished by half and smiled at McCoy as he passed her. "Doctor." She paused, looking at his face. "Is something wrong?"

"Not with your cheerful face to greet me in the morning," McCoy said, forcing a smile.

"Flatterer," she said. "Are you coming down to breakfast?"

"I had some coffee earlier. Now, I have an appointment at the Academy of Medicine."

"Here," Amanda gave him a sheaf of her roses. "A present for the healers."

"They're lovely. I'm sure they'll appreciate them."

"Not how you think," Amanda said dryly. "Just remember to keep your countenance when they tear them to shreds and devour them in front of you."

McCoy chuckled. "You're right. I would find that strange. Thanks for the warning."

Amanda smiled up at Kirk, who was still coming down. "Good morning, Captain."

"Jim was just telling me," McCoy said, with a warning eye at his Captain "How he's going to spend the day out tomorrow. Weren't you, Jim?"

"We'll put a flyer at your disposal, Captain," Amanda said. "Won't we, Sarek?"

Sarek came sedately toward them, his keen eyes, having missed nothing and surmised much, still on Kirk. "He can have Spock's," Sarek said. "It's been serviced and maintained. Or if you prefer, we keep a standard Federation model for those few diplomatic guests who prefer to fly themselves."

"I'm sure he'd get a kick out of flying Spock's old jalopy," McCoy said, with a glance at Kirk.

"Jalopy?" Sarek asked, raising a brow at the unfamiliar word.

"A vehicle used by teenagers," Amanda clarified. "It **is** a rather basic model," she said to the still silent Captain. "If you want something that can go from impulse to Warp 22 in eight seconds," she added mischievously, "you'll have to steal Sarek's."

"Don't tempt him," McCoy said.

"Six point four seconds," Sarek clarified. "With the warp sled on. However, it would be impractical to use the warp sled for intersystem travel."

"What about you," McCoy said to Amanda. "Do you share this passion for fast flyers and warp sleds?"

"My aircar is suitable for lugging sehlats to the vet," Amanda said ruefully. "Low in the power component, big in the cargo area. My husband has been trying to replace it on me for years."

"I have, in fact," Sarek said. "She refuses to use the replacements."

"I like the one I have," Amanda said stubbornly.

"And Spock? Was he addicted to fast cars as a teenager?" McCoy asked, amused at the thought. "We know he's been driving a Starship lately."

Sarek paused, just a moment, his shoulders catching as his walk was momentarily arrested. Amanda glanced sympathetically at her husband, and then turned to McCoy, filling in the sudden awkward silence. "No. Spock was like me in that regard. Vehicles were just transportation. That's why it was so surprising--"

"If you will excuse me, gentlemen," Sarek gave them a grave inclination of his head and walked off.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to bring up a painful subject," McCoy said, genuinely regretful, looking after Sarek. "He's been very accommodating to us."

"Sarek would say it's not your fault. It's his responsibility to control." But her eyes followed her husband's figure as long as it walked, foreshortened, down the corridor until he disappeared through a doorway, and then she hugged the roses tighter in her arms.

"It's obviously still a sore point for him."

Amanda looked back at McCoy. "You have no idea how hard it was for him, when Spock went away to Starfleet. I'm so proud of him, that he has come this far to reconcile with Spock."

"You're proud of him?" Kirk said, suddenly finding his voice.

Amanda looked at the Captain. "I know it's difficult for any human to understand, but --"

"He was never proud of Spock's accomplishments in Fleet, but you're proud of **him**?"

"Jim!" McCoy temporized, holding out a hand.

Kirk stepped back, away from the cautioning gesture. "Excuse me," he said tightly, and stalked off.

McCoy closed his eyes a moment and sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Sorry about that."

"It seems Captain Kirk is finding this more difficult than Sarek," Amanda said, her eyes following Kirk now.

"I won't excuse him. But Jim's had some tragedies, in his life. He tends to hang on to those that he cares about, particularly when they're in trouble. He can be …very difficult… when someone close to him is threatened."

"An able quality, I'm sure, in a Starship commander."

"Except that it can make him insufferable at times."

"Given everything Captain Kirk has done for my son – and my husband – you can't imagine I'd find it hard to excuse almost anything in his behavior, particularly from such a cause."

"I don't know," McCoy said morosely. "As a doctor, I can understand. Though I can't approve. As a friend, **I'm** finding it hard to excuse."

"When Spock is better, Jim will feel better too."

"Maybe," McCoy said.

Amanda turned to him, shocked, her face clouded.

"I didn't mean it like that," McCoy said hastily.

"Is Spock all right this morning?"

"A little tired."

"Doctor," she hesitated, and then looked up at him. "Is he going to be able to return to Starfleet?"

"Now, that's the question of the day," McCoy said, wearily. "Amanda, no one can say at this point."

"That's the reason why Captain Kirk is so upset this morning?"

"Well…partially." He looked after, where Sarek and Kirk had left. "That and I've pried him by medical order from hovering over Spock's bedside." He looked down at her. "He needs some perspective. Maybe you can arrange to have someone else visit Spock tomorrow."

"Certainly. I haven't so far, but there are those I've been putting off. And Sarek himself has hesitated to encroach on Captain Kirk's time with Spock."

"Whatever happens, one of them is going to be very disappointed."

"Sarek **wouldn't** be pleased to have Spock so badly affected by his injuries that he couldn't be reinstated," Amanda reproved.

"No, you're right. I'm sorry. That was unfair of me."

"He wants Spock home, of course. But of his own free choice, not forced by circumstance."

"And what do **you** want?" McCoy asked. "Amid all these galaxy wide personalities."

Amanda laughed, a bit ruefully. "I'd like everyone happy for a start. And given I'm dealing with Vulcans and half-Vulcans--"

"And demanding Starship Captains," McCoy added.

"That doesn't seem too likely. What I want after that for myself seems very inconsequential indeed."

"You want Spock home, too," McCoy said intuitively.

Amanda sighed. "Is it so terrible that part of me does want that? Among all the other demands of this situation?"

"How big a part?" McCoy asked.

"That I'm not sure about yet," she said. She looked down at the roses in her arms. "I was taking these to Spock."

"He was resting when I left him, but go on. Even if he's sleeping still, he'll appreciate them when he wakes."

Amanda looked up at McCoy. "It must be hard for you, Doctor. Being in the middle of all these conflicting interests. You have a difficult situation ahead of you."

"Not me, no. Hopefully, I'll be spared that, and it will be Spock who will have to make that ultimate decision. But he's not ready for that yet. The hardest part of my job, at this point, is seeing he's spared all these conflicting interests, so that he has the chance to recover, and make that decision himself. We all want that."

"At least we're all agreed on something," Amanda said. She leaned up and gave the doctor a kiss on the cheek, and then turned away, climbing the stairs to Spock's room.

As he walked out the doors to the hanger court, he heard her singing again, and he recognized the words to _A la Claire Fontaine_, a French children's song.

J'ai perdu mon amie,  
Sans l'avoir mérité  
Pour un bouquet de roses,  
Que je lui refusai

Il y a longtemps que je t'aime  
Jamais je ne t'oublierai

Je voudrais que la rose,  
Fût encore au rosier  
Et que ma douce amie  
Fût encore à m'aimer

McCoy paused, listening, reading meanings into the simple words with all a psychiatrist's perspective, and then sighed and walked out into the blinding heat and sun of another Vulcan day.

_To be continued…._

Author's Note: This story was written long before Star Trek 5, and was based on Roddenberry's canonical "The Making of Star Trek" in which it was said Sarek had no other wife, and Spock no other siblings.

* *


	7. Chapter 7

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 7**

McCoy paused on his return home that afternoon – funny how a Vulcan castle was rapidly feeling like home, even to him, a transplanted Terran who had never had many kind words to say about this arid planet -- and took a short detour. He walked through the formal Vulcan gardens to a path that lead to Amanda's terra-formed ones. Ducking through an arched doorway led him through the shimmer of a force screen, past a curtain of hanging vines and roses, into almost another world. Irrigation systems and foliage, lush flowers and green leaves transformed the space from the arid desert gardens on the one side to a near human microclimate on the other. That is, if you discounted the gravity and the red sky. He took a deep gulp of the humid air, scented with flowers and let his fingers graze across the tips of a lavender hedge. The gravity was still a heavy drag, physically and emotionally, but just seeing green leaves and breathing verdant foliage soothed him.

His cardiac operation had not gone well. Even after decades as a physician and surgeon, the loss of a patient was painful. He needed some time, away from people, to regain his perspective.

The Vulcan who had died had been much older than Sarek. He'd never operated on a being so old. And thus less resilient. The patient had actually survived the operation itself. But several hours later his blood pressure had increased, and all that the healers could do with mental controls and drugs had been ineffective. The patient had died of a multiple neurological infarcts several hours later – strokes in layman's terms. Nothing that Vulcan's or Starfleet's technological, medicinal capabilities, nothing in the healer arts had saved him.

The healers had been matter-of-fact and prosaic about the death. McCoy understood professional reserve, too. But he still found it hard to lose any patient. It haunted him. And he'd been secure in his knowledge of the procedure this time too. It made him realize all the more how lucky they'd all been, the last time.

That was the problem, with medicine. You could never get too cocky. No sooner did you think you could cure a rainy day – or on Vulcan, a dry one – than you came up short against the realities of life – and death. And luck -- unless you were Jim Kirk – couldn't always be relied on. Not even Jim could, all the time, though he seemed to shower a lucky charm over those around him.

The death had made McCoy well aware he had been playing fast and loose in other ways too. Perhaps thinking that just because Spock had been rescued, that they had gotten him to Vulcan, he too would rise like a phoenix. It was what Jim expected, and Jim could be so persuasive, he could blind everyone, sometimes, to reality. Or make reality come out his way.

But McCoy suspected he himself had been too optimistic. He could see his errors now. To be fair to everyone – Spock, Jim, his parents, he needed to handle this situation with Spock more practically. Then if the worst happened – not that Spock would die, for physically he was stable – but if he couldn't pass command reinstatement tests, if his mind had in some way been shattered, too broken to shoulder command again, there was a backup plan in place, one everyone was well prepared for, could expect and could handle.

Though he suspected nothing, of course, could make Jim take that possibility well.

As for Spock, it was too soon for McCoy to say how he would react, if he had to face a civilian future. McCoy was sure, at least at the moment, that Spock had not even thought that far ahead. He had a long way to go to get there.

He had been resisting therapy.

Not in any extreme way. He had accepted his surroundings uncomplainingly, seemed content. But did not ask questions or engage beyond the superficial reality of the here and now. He seemed content to exist in a bubble that didn't include dealing with more than that which was directly before him, not pushing himself to look beyond into the next day, next week, much less next month. He slept; he was willing to engage in light conversation. He did eat, at least a little. For Spock, who lost his appetite entirely at any stress, that said much to McCoy. He accepted interaction that was non-threatening and non invasive. But at any more demands than that, he evaded, closed down, looked away, turned away.

From a civilian shrink's viewpoint, resisting therapy was a very bad sign, a warning that huge issues lurked therein.

From a Starfleet shrink's perspective, it was understandable and acceptable. Up to a point. Right now, it was normal, even predictable, for an officer who had been through what Spock had. But what was niggling at McCoy was that it couldn't last forever. And the longer it lasted, the bigger the problem. Sooner or later, an officer either had to yield to therapy, and go through his experiences, deal with them, and pass the reinstatement tests. Or if he could not, he was decommissioned and retired.

As for Sarek and Amanda, McCoy now suspected this was more than a casual visit home. That at least Amanda might have difficulty accepting if Spock did return to 'Fleet. But he couldn't be sure of that, yet, either.

He sighed, and spent a few necessary minutes just wandering through the gardens, taking in their beauty, and resetting his own equilibrium before he faced this next set of patients.

Coming in through the garden court door, he found a table set for dinner on the terrace. Only Sarek was there, looking pensive, fingers steepled, so deep in thought he didn't stir when McCoy came up behind him until McCoy set down his medical kit and reached for a glass and the tea pitcher.

"Evening, Sarek," he said as the Vulcan unfolded his hands. He drained half the glass and refilled it before setting the pitcher down, and drew his hand, wet from the pitchers condensation, across his brow and the nape of his neck. It helped. "Have you seen Spock this afternoon? I'd planned to check on him before dinner."

Sarek straightened fractionally, laying his hands precisely on the table. "We played chess earlier."

"Dare I ask who won?" McCoy said, with a trace of a smile.

"He was too fatigued to finish the game."

McCoy gave Sarek a sharp glance. Was the tone a little more clipped than usual? He took another sip of tea, shifting from one foot to the other, wondering if he was hearing any emotion in that even voice. Or if it was just his own reaction, the stress of his own day being overlaid on a Vulcan lack of reaction. He couldn't tell. "I'll look in on him in a minute," he said. "Is anyone with him now?"

"His mother is now reading to him to sleep."

McCoy set his glass down, raising a brow, not quite sure he'd heard correctly. "Come again?"

Sarek's eyes met McCoy's, not a trace of expression in their black depths. The absence of any emotion, even after all McCoy's experience with Spock, somehow unnerved him and McCoy drew back a bit.

"Spock does not have the mental capability, at present, to meditate before retiring," Sarek said. "A healer has determined that even with his skilled assistance meditation is not possible for Spock at this time. He has been having difficulty sleeping today. His mother's own habit is to read before retiring. She therefore thought it would relax him to be read to."

"I guess it might," McCoy said, uncharacteristically rattled by Sarek's mechanical inflection and absence of emotion as he related the events, more so than the news of Spock's difficulties. He swallowed another gulp of tea, reminding himself he wasn't some gauche human who had never been off Terra. Still, he had thought himself used to Vulcans, from Spock. And in dealing with the healers, in a professional situation, he hadn't been much cued to emotion himself. But now that he faced Sarek, alone, for the first time without Spock as an immediate distraction, he was coming up against the difference between a full-blooded Vulcan, and Spock. He topped up his glass, glad to see his surgeon's hands were steady, shoring up his equilibrium for the second time in fifteen minutes.

His usual methods of dealing with Vulcan logic and unemotion when it discomforted him – teasing Spock until he literally forced some trace of emotional reaction -- couldn't be used with Sarek. Now that Amanda wasn't around, McCoy realized how he'd been depending upon her to cue him with her own human body language to Sarek's much more fractional reactions and emotions. Without her to interpret Sarek for him, as she had been on the Enterprise and here up till now, he felt partially blind. And the cold, mechanical precise explanation had chilled him, even in the fiery heat of a Vulcan summer afternoon. "What were they reading?" he said, grasping at a subject for conversation, since Sarek had not replied to his pleasantry.

"Does it matter?" Sarek asked, with the same cool remoteness.

McCoy suddenly felt overwhelmed with the pull of the planet's gravity. The stress of the day, the whole alien environment, finally caught up to him. He sank down abruptly, putting off his intended visit with Spock for a few more minutes. If Amanda was with him, there was no rush. "I suppose not." He drew a careful breath of the dry air, sparing a glance for the impassive Vulcan across from him. But that wasn't quite an adequate description. Now that he looked at him more closely, now that he wasn't distracted by his own weariness, he could see that in spite of Sarek being far more controlled than Spock usually was, he was far from impassive. It came to McCoy that all that superhuman control wasn't the normal Sarek any more than it was the normal Spock. That it was masking very strong emotions. That behind those expressionless eyes and controlled hands Sarek was really angry. Or possessed by some strong emotion. McCoy could suddenly see, as he hadn't before standing above him, the tension in the set of the elder Vulcan's shoulders. He suddenly felt uneasy sitting across from him. As if the Vulcan were an unshielded anti-matter engine.

The opposite door swung open, and Amanda came in, a tray in her hands. McCoy felt himself relax as she seemed totally unphased by her husband's wooden visage. "He's asleep at last," she said to Sarek. "At least for now." She looked across at McCoy, and found a trace of a smile for him. "Hello, Doctor. I hope you had a pleasant day."

McCoy didn't bother to burden her with his troubles. "I take it that Spock himself didn't have the best one."

Amanda put down her tray and sat down at the table, pushing her long braid back off her shoulder and rubbing her neck as if she had a crick in it, from long reading. Her totally human body language, in the face of Sarek's strict control, was as refreshing to McCoy as the tea he was drinking. "He's not getting much rest today," she admitted. "Suddenly he's experiencing a lot of bad dreams when he tries to sleep. Very bad dreams."

McCoy let out a breath, relieved that was all it was. He'd had previous experience with a Spock who had trouble reconciling an emotional reaction to bad memories, one that had left him unable to meditate in the Vulcan way. So for Spock this might not be a neurological problem at all, just an emotional one. Sarek might not like that, but to McCoy that was not only expected, but something he was relieved to hear of, on a number of levels. If that were all it was, Spock was more or less on schedule. Bad dreams were a sign the reactions were coming to the surface, in spite of Spock's avoidance of them so far. If so it was a welcome phase, though he hoped it would soon pass.

"That's predictable," McCoy reassured her. "It won't be pleasant for him. Or for all of you. But it **is** the next stage of his recovery, at least from a psychological perspective."

"It is?" Amanda said, looking at him puzzled. "How can that be? It's like he is worse, now that he's been home a few days."

"It may look that way, sure. But before, he was still half in battle mode, shut down, all shields and barriers up. He couldn't let himself remember, or deal with what happened. He had to stay boxed up, prepared for the worst the enemy could throw at him. Or he came tentatively out, if the setting was innocuous enough, and he turtled up if it wasn't. But that can't last forever. It's not normal, though it may have seemed so. Now that he's beginning to feel safe and relax, he's going to experience his reaction to what he's been through, a reaction that up till now he's been denying. Difficult as it's going to be, he **needs** to feel it. Until he gets it out, gets through that, he won't be able to put it behind him." He smiled at Amanda's troubled face. "Believe me; unpleasant as it is for him and you, this is a good sign. I'd be far more concerned if he had buried his emotional reaction to his situation so deep he refused to deal with it. I was more than a little worried he might do that. Or that he'd have to go through painful therapy to force him to deal with it."

Sarek had been listening stolidly to this explanation without showing any sign of accepting it. "Vulcans control," he said. "They do not 'get it out'. They meditate. They discipline emotional reactions into patterns of logic, then dismiss the emotional contaminants. That is our way."

"With all due respect, Ambassador," McCoy said carefully, "how many Vulcans go through what Spock has?"

"Sarek," Amanda began, with a glance at her husband.

"Perhaps that has always been my point," Sarek said, with an icy precision that raised McCoy's hackles.

McCoy drew a sharp breath. "Whether you agree with his choice of career or not, whether he always follows your disciplines or not, what Spock does in his Starfleet career has been immeasurably **valuable**, to Starfleet and the Federation," he retorted. "Maybe it's time you recognized that point!"

"Doctor," Amanda said, eyeing her husband, whose eyes were flashing.

Suddenly aware of what he was doing, now faced off against Sarek of Vulcan in his own home, McCoy caught himself. Shaking his head, and holding out a placating hand, he let out the breath he had drawn before he said anything more that he might regret. After a moment, he mastered some purely human control. "Okay. I understand," he said slowly. "I may even agree with you in part. He's obviously had a bad day. Maybe he wasn't ready himself, to have Jim spend some time away from him. That might have been a bad judgment call on my part. And you both had to deal the results and I hadn't prepared you for what might happen. My fault. It must have been difficult for you, given you're not used to the problems of a service life. Maybe more difficult for you than it was for Spock. Certainly no one should have to experience what Spock went through. If it were my child, and I were forced to watch him deal with the fallout from that mission, well, I'd be mad as hell too. I do understand. But Spock is tough, and resilient. There's a good chance, in spite of what he's going through now, and how bad it looks, that he's going to be all right. I'm not saying he will fully recover, not yet. But don't take what appears to be a setback so much at face value, is all I'm saying."

Sarek had been listening to McCoy's platitude, with a trace of disbelief and when it was over, he drew a sharp breath and some of the control slipped from his voice when he said, "Doctor, with all due respect, you do not even **begin** to understand Vulcan --"

"I **have** consulted with your Vulcan trauma specialists," McCoy overrode him firmly. "And I'm willing to continue to consult with them and use them where necessary. You're his father, yes. But you're not a doctor, and Spock is **my** patient. I think I do understand him, so far as that goes. And unless something changes, **I'm** responsible for his treatment and his recovery. I'm afraid that's the way it's going to have to be."

"Sarek," Amanda said softly. She didn't look at her husband. She was gazing down at her hands, which were coiling her long braid around her fingers. "Please."

There was silence for a moment. McCoy looked from Amanda, who kept her head stubbornly down, to Sarek who hadn't reacted at all to McCoy's thrown gauntlet. Instead, he was looking at Amanda's bent head as if demanding a reaction. But Amanda didn't look up. Her shoulders were down. Except for that first soft intonation of her husband's name, she couldn't have been more subdued.

"What?" McCoy asked, not sure what was going on, except he was positive that something was. He had thought the conflict was between him and Sarek. But perhaps it wasn't.

Sarek glanced at him as if just recollecting him. Then he blinked, rose and without another word went out through the garden court door that McCoy had entered, his shoulders stiff with tension.

Amanda's eyes followed her husband through the terrace windows. They watched him wind his way through the gardens, until the foliage hid him from view.

"Whew!" McCoy said. "What was going on there that I don't know about?"

"Nothing."

"That was not nothing," McCoy said positively. "That was one ticked off Vulcan, for all his control. I didn't recognize his behavior as anger at first, but then it became pretty obvious. I thought I understood Vulcans. And Spock has a temper of his own. But Spock has **nothing** on Sarek. I was actually feeling a little threatened for a moment. Hell, more than a little."

"You had nothing to fear."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"It's personal, Doctor."

"I just happen to be a personal physician," McCoy drawled. He took another sip of tea, wetting his suddenly dry throat. He realized he was shaking a little. From fatigue, perhaps. Or something more, like adrenalin from a near battle situation.

She gave him a trace of a smile for his joke, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Sarek is all right," she said, her gaze back to where he had disappeared through the garden court. "Thank goodness," she muttered in an added undertone. "You just have no idea how difficult this is for him."

"To quote him," McCoy said, with a touch of his usual irony and a stab of his finger, "'Vulcans control.'"

"Not without some cost to themselves," Amanda said. She still looked upset.

"I'm sorry," McCoy answered, seeing her not react to his half attempt at humor. "That was unworthy of me. But if this is going to be hard for Sarek, maybe we shouldn't be here."

Amanda looked up, shocked. "Oh, no! You have to stay!"

"Amanda--"

"You can't take Spock away, again."

"Again?" McCoy raised a brow.

"Back to Starfleet, I mean."

"I know you want Sarek and Spock to have this time together. So do I. But I don't want to risk upsetting Sarek's condition either."

"What do you mean, his condition?" Amanda asked, turning and regarding him with suddenly narrowed eyes. McCoy couldn't have been more surprised at the change in her. She had gone suddenly from entreaty to the equivalent of a Rigilian spitcat, fur bristling.

"His heart," McCoy said, in some surprise.

She let out a breath and relaxed. "Oh. His heart."

"Yeah, that." McCoy said, a trace ironically, and with a touch of anger of his own, seeing her discount that concern, his anger further fueled by the memory of the Vulcan who had died today from that same operation, in spite of his own experience in performing it, and no risky experimental drugs. "His heart. The little matter that nearly killed Sarek not all that long ago. Obviously it seems to have slipped your mind, but it was pretty important to everyone at the time, and I'll certainly never forget it. I don't know what **you're** thinking of."

Amanda shook her head. "His heart is fine," she assured him. "It's not his heart that--" she stopped herself again, and let out a breath. "His heart is fine," she repeated.

"He's had checkups?" McCoy asked, eyes narrowed. "I don't need any more surprises."

"Regular ones. Believe me, Doctor, I confer with his healer." Amanda put her hand on her own heart in a gesture of sincerity. "I would never want to be surprised like that again either. I've had all the surprises I need in regard to Sarek's health. Nor would we ever be so unfair to you again. His heart is perfectly sound."

McCoy drew up a brow in puzzlement. "Then what isn't fine?"

Amanda shook her head, avoiding that question. "I just told you that Sarek is well."

"But you are concerned – not just for Spock, but for Sarek too."

Amanda looked long at McCoy. "It's really nothing that can concern you."

"If it impacts Spock's recovery in any way, it concerns me," McCoy said, staking his ground. "And you just said you were going to play fair."

Amanda bit her lip and sighed. "I hadn't thought of you in this equation."

"Well, here I am. And I'd like to know what I'm into."

"I can't talk about Sarek," Amanda said. "And it isn't really a factor. Just a concern of mine."

"Will it be a concern for Spock?"

Amanda half smiled. "What did you say, before? That's the question of the day. I don't know. I hope not."

"I don't understand. But again, if it concerns Spock, I do need to."

Amanda looked at him thoughtfully. "You're just as invested in Spock as Sarek and I, aren't you? Perhaps you feel, just like Jim does, that you are more invested than we are."

"As a doctor, yes, I am. As a friend, no. I'm not expecting, not demanding, anything of Spock except that he makes his own choices. I don't excuse Jim's behavior, but it's something I can understand," McCoy said. "Though I tend to think of Starfleet as a transitory career, for me and for most crewmen. It's not a lifestyle -- as it is for Jim."

"And for Spock?" She asked, her eyes on him.

McCoy was silent a long moment, now avoiding her searching gaze, thinking that through. "Until Sarek came on the Enterprise, it was darn close to being a lifestyle for Spock. If it had gone on any longer, I'd say he'd have been permanently settled in 'Fleet. Now, I'm not sure. I think, like most of us, Spock is looking for a home. Some, like Jim – true adventurers, true commanders -- find it in Starfleet because they need that adventure, that environment and they'd be wasted anywhere else. More than wasted. Take Jim away from Command and there's a part of him that would die a slow death. He'd never be the same. Men like Jim need a Starship to be whole. And Starfleet needs men like Jim."

"But not Spock."

McCoy sighed. "I don't know whether it is ethical to talk to you of Spock or not. Regardless that you're his parents, he's an adult."

"Not fully, not by Vulcan standards, Doctor," Amanda said.

"He's got a Federation passport and Earth citizenship," McCoy countered, just as quick.

Amanda sat back, blinking at that. "You are informed."

"He's my medical responsibility. I have a duty to know him." McCoy countered, and then sitting back himself, sighed. "On the other hand, it's in my professional opinion that Spock's in Starfleet partly because he's searching for something besides scientific discoveries. Home, maybe. A lot of displaced persons find a home in 'Fleet, because it can swallow up anybody, if you accede to its rules and customs. They're not always the best fit for Spock, though. And like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, much of what he's searching for I warrant he could find just as handily in his backyard. Maybe that wasn't true when he was a mixed up teenager, but he's a bit older and I daresay wiser now. Though there are days when I have my doubts on that, mind you."

"No argument here."

"But I'm not sure all that he's searching for, he can find at home. Probably he doesn't know either, yet. Amanda. Let me be clear, just as I did with Jim this morning, that my recommendations regarding Spock's medical status will have nothing whatsoever to do with your or Sarek desires. It's purely about Spock. Except that if he can't return to Starfleet, it's important to me to know that he will be welcome at home. That he'll have a home. Because I just can't see him in some impersonal Fleet rehabilitation center. Their care is good, but it wouldn't be a good situation for Spock."

Amanda drew a sharp breath. "That will **never** happen."

"It'd be over Jim's dead body too. And maybe mine, if I tried to pull Spock's commission without Jim's acceptance. But I don't think Spock's at risk of that. I won't say yet that he'll be able to con the bridge of a Starship yet – it's early days for that kind of assessment. But even if he can't, I suspect he'll recover eventually enough that there could be research and teaching positions available to him in Starfleet. The Academy would leap to have him back, under those conditions."

Amanda looked sad. "If it comes to that, I want him home. He can teach here."

"Where home **is**, is up to Spock. But purely from a shrink's perspective, I'd like Vulcan to be one of his options. And as a friend, too. I see too many perennial wanderers in Fleet. I can't say too many of them are really happy."

"It **is** one of his options." Seeing McCoy regarding her with a raised brow, she said. "You mustn't take Sarek's comments too much to heart. He wasn't being critical of Spock. It's just seeing how badly Spock was hurt was difficult for him, too. Don't think because Vulcans control their emotions that they are entirely unfeeling."

McCoy was silent a moment, pondering this. "I suppose it is hard, even for Vulcans, to risk losing a child."

Amanda laughed softly, without amusement. "You have no idea, Doctor."

"I'm beginning to think I should. Have that idea. Any chance Sarek would talk to me about it?"

Amanda looked astonished, then shook her head. "Never."

"Hmmm. I suppose it is early days for that too." McCoy sighed. "Well, do I have time to look in on Spock before dinner?"

"I think so. Sarek will want some time to meditate over what he will see as a regrettable lapse. And Jim hasn't come back yet either."

"He hasn't?"

Amanda shook her head. "Sarek and I were with Spock all day."

McCoy raised a brow. "That's good, though surprising. Maybe Jim is coming around too."

"Perhaps we will beat them yet, Doctor," Amanda said, with a faint smile.

McCoy smiled. "I always said sheer stubborn persistence wins out even over all these alpha males."

"If Spock has woken and would like dinner," she said, picking up her tray and taking it into the kitchen, "Let me know. He hasn't been sleeping very long today, because of the nightmares."

"I will." McCoy turned to climb the stairs. "Oh, one more thing – just curious -- what **were** you reading to Spock?"

"One of his favorites." Amanda said, with the trace of a smile.

"Surak's Constructs?"

"Alice in Wonderland."

"Of course," McCoy said, his brow clearing. "**Now** I know why Sarek was ticked," he grinned.

"You are wicked, Doctor," Amanda said.

"And so are you. And let me tell you, it's pretty obvious that Spock's as much your son as Sarek's."

"Now that is something Sarek wouldn't appreciate hearing," she teased back.

McCoy smiled in return. But as he wearily climbed the stairs to yet another patient, he wondered, briefly, where Jim had disappeared to…

So many patients. And just one of him…

_To be continued…_


	8. Chapter 8

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 8**

Jim Kirk stepped out of the main hall into the same terraced garden court where he, McCoy and Spock had first arrived. Across a series of ornamental fountains, parterres, and statuary, including one of a hugelematya, and another of one of the famed Vulcan dragons with wings outspread, was a high barred gate in the sandstone wall that circled the estate. On the other side of the gate, an efficient looking Vulcan guard stood by a small guard house full of scanners and computers that apparently augmented the fully functional phaser that rested on his hip opposite from what appeared to be some ornamental Vulcan weapon. Kirk evaluated the security with the judicious eye of long experience. As he did so, a second guard came out of the guard house and relieved the first. Apparently even Vulcans needed to take a break from the ruthless heat. The second traded a few sentences with the other, and then they both looked across at Kirk. They didn't look particularly friendly, but they didn't appear hostile either. Merely watchful.

He drew a measured breath and straightened his shoulders. On the other side of the gate and the guards was the hanger, his destination. He sauntered over. Both guards braced and scanned his hands and his hip with their keen eyes in a professional reflex. Kirk wore no phaser. In almost the same second they recognized that and stood down fractionally. Kirk couldn't fault Sarek's guard for Vulcan thoroughness. Nor had he failed to notice that in spite of the perimeter security, the house itself had a security system as sensitive and sophisticated as a Starbase, or more so. He couldn't open a door or window without a sensor being activated. He didn't like that. Not with he and Spock on one side of that gate and them on the other. He'd had too many unpleasant encounters with guards, with friendly hospitality suddenly turning hostile to be completely sanguine about this. Though part of him appreciated that all this security must have some practical point. If it made Spock safer, he could hardly argue with it. As long as it stopped with protecting them, and not penning them in.

With that in mind, he regarded the gate narrowly. But when he put out an experimental hand, the gate opened smoothly to his touch.

Not that he had really expected anything else.

He nodded to the guards and headed for the hanger. No one stopped or questioned him. Good.

Inside were parked a number of vehicles. Amanda's was easy to identify, not only from the boxy storage area in the back, but from various things in the pilot's compartment, and scattered over the co-pilot's seat and in the open storage area in front – a couple of pairs of sunglasses cued to filter out Vulcan infrared from the human retina, a six pack of water containers, a box of tissues, a couple of hair clasps, a folder of papers, all with Vulcan script on them, an antique English paper book – a copy of Jane Austen's Emma -- and, of all things, a Terran orange. Probably out of the gardens. The vehicle didn't have a warp sled, but it did have an intriguing combination of power sources, from solar to thermal to fuel cells, one of the most energy efficient little crafts he'd ever seen. You could probably circle the planet without ever refueling it. He would have liked to take it apart and look at how they all fit together synergistically, but without Scotty he couldn't be sure he'd ever get it back together again. He took his nose out of the engine panel, noting the sand on the floor plates. It was a fully Vulcan vehicle, but with an obviously fully human pilot, and he gave Amanda credit for that. There was no complicated navigation system, not a single English readout in the control panel. It was designed for Vulcans, with minimal automatic controls. She must not be a bad pilot to be able to fly it. He'd have liked to try it himself but unfortunately, she was likely to need it before he could get it back to her. Still, he snagged one of the pairs of sunglasses – they were of a basic unisex type, and a couple of the water boxes and, after a moment's hesitation, the orange – it wouldn't survive another day in the Vulcan heat of the hanger, she wouldn't be likely to miss it with an orchard full of them, nor begrudge him taking it if she did, and he hadn't had breakfast -- and moved on.

Sarek's flyer was next to hers. He had no intention of taking it, not to mention Sarek hadn't offered it to him, but he couldn't help looking over its sleek lines with the loving gaze of someone who was familiar with high performance vehicles and regarded them with the same appreciation as a high class woman. The vehicle was unlocked; though he discovered the ignition was coded. There was nothing at all in the pilot area, typical of fussily neat Vulcans. Not a speck of sand or dust on the floor plates. The vehicle was presently in its impulse only setup. Whereas Amanda's flyer was only suitable for planetary hops, this vehicle could make it to the limit of the Eridani system and beyond with its existing engines. And probably anywhere in the Federation with the warp sled attached. Looking around for the latter, Kirk found it in the back of the hanger, carefully stored on an antigrav mat, ready for docking. He looked it over, figuring out how it mated to the flyer. He would have given his eye teeth to fly this beauty, but it was not likely to happen. Trailing his fingers over it reluctantly, he went on to the next.

That was a sheer study in contrast, for it was a large Federation passenger vehicle, probably meant to handle various delegations. It had no real power, some high level security features, and a fairly luxurious interior, as befits something that was used in diplomatic contexts. It was also an off-world import. It had been built in New Detroit; it had an air conditioning system that would cool a supernova, or a Vulcan summer's day, and all the controls and readouts were in English. Kirk curled a lip at it in a superior sneer; it was the equivalent of a tour bus. A child could pilot it, but he wasn't desperate enough to take it out himself. However simple its operation, it would be a severe blow to his ego to pilot that travesty anywhere.

The only other vehicle in the hanger was a small dual passenger flyer, not much bigger than an air foil. Kirk stood back and looked at it thoughtfully, peeling the orange and putting the sections in his mouth. They tasted unbelievably sweet and juicy. He realized how long it had been since he'd had a real, non-reconstituted orange.

The vehicle opened to his touch, and he studied the unfamiliar control panel. Minimalist didn't begin to describe it. There wasn't even a duplicate co-pilot's console. All the controls were in Vulcan. It was an impulse only vehicle, but he couldn't figure out what its power capabilities might be. He looked through all the storage compartments. They were empty, except for an old manual; useless to him since it was written in Vulcanur. In the back of the manual a faded note in mixed English and Vulcanur tumbled out, signed by Amanda. Apparently the craft had been a gift or reward for some long ago event. Kirk could only understand the English words. The Vulcan ones he couldn't translate, but he didn't think Vulcans celebrated birthdays, so it had to have been for something else. The date was also in Vulcan years, not Federation standard. Laboriously working it out, Kirk figured Spock must have been twelve or thirteen or maybe even fifteen – he wasn't quite sure of the Federation to Vulcan conversion. But though a little sun-faded the vehicle seemed to be in good repair. And it was Spock's. Spock was like a brother to him, and that made it effectively his too. This was the craft he was going to take, Vulcan or not. If Spock could fly it, he could fly it.

He put the last of the orange sections in his mouth and tapped the control panel tentatively with his slightly sticky fingers. It gave a mechanical whoop as the systems powered up, surprisingly loud in the silent hanger, making him jump back in surprise. As the vehicle's engines engaged the little craft rose slightly, the antigravs straining on their tether, like a little race horse in the starting gate.

"Holy shit," Kirk murmured, intrigued and seduced, and slid into the pilot's chair. He had to squirm to make it adjust to him before it extended around him. Spock must have been a skinny teenager. He looked over the control panel. Vulcan or human, a flyer was only a flyer. With some review, he thought he figured out which control released the antigravs, and which was stop and which was go, and something that looked like an altitude control. After a moment's consideration for whether he should ask for help, he chucked the idea as too ridiculous – a starship captain asking how to pilot a simple air flyer – and cut lose the tether control and hit the ignition at the same time.

The vehicle screamed out of the hanger with a shriek like a wild lematya. He narrowly missed clipping Sarek's sleek craft as he slid and shimmied out -- a vehicle that probably cost more than his Captain's salary for the whole five year mission. The gate guards had to run for cover before he managed to get the nose of the craft up, seconds before he nearly demolished the ancient stone wall circling the estate. He pulled the vehicle in an arc toward the desert before he took out the castle too. He got some altitude under him and then, when he was breathing hard in relief, thinking he was finally safe in clear, open sky, and could figure out how to navigate, a collision warning began to sound. He belatedly remembered the force shields surrounding the estate. And then he saw them ahead of him, a faint opaque shimmer in the ruby sky.

"Damn, blast and hell," he muttered frantically, and tried to figure out how to get out through them. Failing that, he'd be forced to turn the vehicle around and land before he knew quite how. That or risk breaking up Spock's birthday or whatever gift, and not incidentally, his own neck. He fumbled around the controls, one eye on the shimmer ahead, one eye on the ground, not wanting to turn and land without room to maneuver and a chance to figure out how to stop, and then, at the last minute, he ran out of time and closed his eyes. His hands tensed on the controls as he came up against the force barrier, and he gunned the little craft, determined if he was going to hit the sheild, to punch through it with sheer force.

And there was no collision. No explosion. The shield had been coded for the flyer, and it automatically opened a window for it. He had cut it a little too close, though, zigging when he should have zagged, and there was a sonic boom as the wind sheer from the craft bounced off the leading edge of the force shield.

"Holy shit," he said again, weakly, as the craft rocked and bounced before he steadied it. He swallowed hard, almost wishing he hadn't eaten that orange, because this craft didn't have much in the way of environmental stabilizers. The flyer bucked like a mustang before he got it back under control again. Behind him, he saw the Vulcan guards picking themselves up off the ground and staring after him. He sympathized with them, wiping beads of sweat off his own forehead as he leveled out.

But now, before him was all of the planet Vulcan, and a sweet little craft to explore it with. He turned the nose of the craft well away from the city that must be Shikhar, and out to the wide sweeping sands of the Forge, with plenty of leg room before he came up against the far mountain range of the distant Llangons, room to stretch the craft's non-existent wings and figure out how to fine tune his piloting.

"Nice jalopy, Spock," he said, with a happy grin, almost the first he'd had since he'd stepped on planet. "Remind me to thank your Mom."

Back in the breakfast room, "Mom" grabbed her juice glass as everything on the table vibrated and shimmied in the aftermath of Kirk's inadvertent sonic boom.

"What the hell was that!" she asked Sarek, who had left off such trivialities as rescuing his breakfast, settling for covering his sensitive ears with his hands while the dishes of Amanda's favorite breakfast china, imported all the way from Terra, crashed to the floor around them.

As the boom subsided, Sarek rose and looked out the terrace windows, his keen eyes focusing on the distant spec in the sky.

"It appears that Captain Kirk has borrowed Spock's flyer."

"That was **Jim**?" Amanda asked incredulously, picking up the remains of their breakfast from the floor. "James T. Kirk? The supposed best Starship Captain in the Fleet?"

Sarek flicked a brow in a Vulcan shrug and returned to the table. "Perhaps Doctor McCoy was correct."

"What do you mean?" Amanda asked, sadly regarding the ruin of her dishes.

"Perhaps it **is** Spock that drives," Sarek said, and sitting back down, signaled to T'Rueth for a second breakfast.

_To be continued…._


	9. Chapter 9

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 9**

Kirk flew over the Forge, mile after mile of deserted red sand and rock, taking Spock's little craft in easy circles, in controlled dives and soars, testing his handling of it. He flew high into the atmosphere, and verified its stall speed, checking for how much power it needed before it lost lift and crashed, making sure he had plenty of altitude under him to recover. It was a simple craft, little more than a souped-up air foil. Within an hour, he felt he knew its cruising attitudes as well as anyone could, even as well as Spock, who he could clearly see had his hands all over it, and surely had performed some of the modifications.

"Who needs a manual," he said, as he did a classic loop-the-loop and then took it down for some practice landings. He was more cautious here, and chose his sites well. He practiced three landings on nice soft sandy areas before he decided he understood how to bring it down safely. Then he tested his ability to land it in less hospitable conditions, using some obliging rock formations. By that time that he was confident in his ability to parallel park the craft on a dime, the afternoon was well advanced, and he was fairly parched, having finished his water bottle long ago. But he wasn't ready to go back yet, though hunger and thirst were gnawing at him.

As yet his attention had all been inward, on the craft. He hadn't yet seen much of Spock's beloved desert sands. So he lifted off, intending on a brief tour, heading into the sunset, looking at the distant Llangon mountains, where vegetation appeared to promise some sort of water, and at least cover – a respite from the relentless desert sun that he would welcome. He could take a brief look-see and still be home for dinner.

Skimming the craft low over the ground in the foothills, something he wouldn't have dared to do this morning, with the unpredictable wind shifts and dangerous terrain, he kept his eyes peeled for and finally saw a silver sparkle, the Vulcan equivalent of a running stream. It was just a trickle but he doubted on Vulcan, he'd find anything larger when it came to surface water. He put the flyer down, and walked over to the rock crevice. There was shade here, from scrubby bushes, and the hulking rocks. When he dipped a hand in the water, it tasted fresh and pure. And the view over the desert below, even low in the foothills as he was, was spectacular.

He drank handful after handful, and finally satisfied, sat back as far as he could under the dubious shade of a scrubby bush, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Even here in the mountain foothills it was roasting hot. But he was proud of himself. He'd mastered Spock's little flyer, explored the desert to an extent and found water. Not a bad day, for Vulcan.

He'd barely finished his congratulatory thoughts, and was cupping his hands for another drink when he heard it, a throaty exhalation, half purr, half growl. He looked up, stricken, just realizing what else would be attracted to water. He just barely rolled in time to evade the lunging pounce of the largest cat he had ever seen.

"Shit," he said, and reached instinctively for the phaser on his hip. And found it bare, of course. One didn't wear a phaser into a civilian situation. He swallowed hard, backing away cautiously from the big cat. It half purred, half growled again, and then threw its head up, wrinkling its broad muzzle, staring at Kirk as if it had never seen, or smelled, his like before.

"Nice kitty," Kirk said, tentatively at this hopeful development. The cat was between him and the flyer. He waved his arm, hoping to get it to back off, even as it advanced a pace or two. "Scat!"

The cat jumped back, whuffing, and then sneezed. It tested the air, drawing its muzzle back from its impressive fangs and then sneezed again. It regarded Kirk doubtfully.

"You're not as bad as all these Vulcans say," Kirk said, straightening a bit. "Are you? So much for Vulcan exaggeration. The dreaded lematya is just a big pussycat. Go on, you furbag, get the hell out of here."

The cat whuffed again, tasting the air, and clawing the ground.

"Scat!" Kirk ordered, and looking around, flung a rock at the creature's head.

The cat reared back and let loose a yowl that reverberated in Kirk's eardrums and had him clutching at his own head. But the rock seemed to have decided it, and it advanced again, this time with no hesitation. Kirk feinted, trying to get around it, and realized that tactic was hopeless. The aircar was in what little clearing there was on this hillside. No way could he run to it and have time to get inside before the creature was on him. And he realized the lemayta had only hesitated because it had been trying to place his scent. Finding him unlike anything on Vulcan, that had momentarily stayed its rush. And something more, he realized, as it renewed its attack. It hadn't really been intimidated. In part it had also been toying with him, like a cat with a mouse, or any small prey. But this time, it came after him with intent. And it was incredibly fast.

Kirk leaped over a boulder, pushing it behind him as he went, though it barely slowed the big cat down. He headed for the only shelter he could reach, away from his aircar, toward the tumbled rocks of the hillside. He ducked behind an overhanging crevice of rock, and past a wedge-shaped set of adjoining pillars under an overhang that was just big enough for him to squeeze through, though it left scratches on his stomach and chest. As he squeezed himself into this dubious shelter, little more than a rabbit hole, his communicator was knocked off his hip. He heard it clatter on the stones, but he had no time to reach back for it, for that would have meant certain death.

Close on his heels, only briefly slowed by avoiding the boulder, the lematya collided with the rock face in its all out rush. Kirk hastily crawled and scrambled backwards, away from the crevice opening, bumping his head on the rock overhang over his head, and crouching down from necessity, for the space wasn't big enough for him to stand up inside it. He watched anxiously as the big cat attacked the rock as if it were him. But although cracks appeared on the formation and some parts of it crumbled away, it held. The cat screamed again and scored the rock face with its claws. Then dug furiously at the base, churning up not only sand and rock but his communicator, lying now crushed and broken under the cat's claws. It leaned down to sniff it, roared again, and smashed the device in an excess of fury, reducing it to broken and shattered elements.

Kirk swallowed hard, really thirsty now, reluctantly amazed at the violence before him, even seasoned space traveller as he he was. But for the moment, the cat seemed to be thwarted. He spared a glance for the rock chamber he'd gotten himself into, and realized the far walls were solid. He was in little more than a tiny crevice. A tumbled niche of stone. He had been lucky to find it. It looked like it might keep him safe, at least for the moment. But there was no way out but forward.

The cat seemed to realize this at the same time he did, and settled on its haunches just outside the crevice walls, staring at him fixedly, its tail twitching.

"Damn it. What the hell am I supposed to do now, Spock?" Kirk muttered, a rhetoncal question. He backed up till the rock wall was solidly behind him, the rock overhang just over and protecting his head, and sat down on his own haunches, staring at the cat through the crevice pillars of his refuge cum prison. He had no phaser, no communicator, and he didn't think throwing rocks was going to do much good with a creature that had a skull like that. Even if he could aim them well enough through the narrow opening. Still he began to pile up a few loose rocks, anyway, just in case. There weren't many and none big enough to serve. It seemed a waiting game was all he had left.

The cat appeared to agree and yawning mightily, dropped its head to its paws, its super sized Vulcan ears pointed in his direction, ready to alert it to his slightest move. It closed its eyes, and its jowls fluttered as it dropped into a cat nap. But if Kirk even shifted his weight slightly, or picked up one of his rock weapons, it woke. He tried anyway, just for the hell of it, to pitch a rock at the cat. It feinted lazily away from it, batting at it with its paw, settling that hope. He clearly wouldn't be getting past this creature.

Impasse.

_To be continued…_


	10. Chapter 10

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 10**

McCoy hesitated outside of Spock's bedroom door. He hated to wake the Vulcan if he were sleeping. On the other hand, he didn't want to startle him. He settled for tapping tentatively. It wouldn't have woken a sleeping human, but he suspected nothing would be soft enough not to wake a Vulcan. When he stepped in, Spock was sitting up, his hair sleep tousled and his face flushed. McCoy made a mental note to scan him for fever.

But his eyes were lucid and his voice was rational as he looked at McCoy and demanded, "Where's Jim?"

"Hi to you, too," McCoy said acerbically. "Nice to see you again. How was **your** day? All these are considered suitable greetings among polite--"

"Where.. Is… Jim?" Spock said, with barely leashed impatience. "Has he returned?"

McCoy sat down across from Spock's bed. "As a matter of fact, he hasn't come back yet." His eyes widened as Spock's face set decisively and the Vulcan threw back his light blanket. "Whoa! Where do you think you're going?"

"Something is wrong."

"Now just you wait. Jim's gone a little AWOL before this, you know. Anyway, he's on leave this time, so it's -- " McCoy caught Spock's arm. "Wait. You're in no shape to go charging around--"

"Something is wrong," Spock repeated.

McCoy blew out a frustrated breath. "You think so? This isn't just another nightmare? I know you've been--"

"Something is **wrong**. I was uncertain before. I've had--" Spock hesitated, chary to admit to his problems. "But now I am sure of it. I **know** it." He said it with the Vulcan assurance McCoy had come to be acquainted with over the course of the last four years. Almost against his will, that decisiveness immediately convinced McCoy that it bore investigating.

"Okay, okay." McCoy scratched his head. "Though I don't know quite what to do. I mean, we're not on the _Enterprise_. It's not as if I can call up to the bridge and have someone scan--"

"**I** can--" Spock made as if to stand.

"No, you **can't**." McCoy punctuated that statement by catching hold of the Vulcan, when he nearly fell and eased him back down. "You really **can't**, Spock."

Spock was breathing hard, trying to rise. "Perhaps…not."

"I should say not! You're not in any shape for a rescue. Not that Jim needs one, I'm sure. He's just…delayed somehow. But **you** can't make it from your bed to a chair without someone holding you up. Look, I'll talk to your father. He ought to be able to find Jim, right?"

It took Spock a few moments to catch his breath. "Jim took my flyer?"

"So far as I know."

Spock nodded. "Then Sarek should…should be able to--" It was obvious he was fading fast.

"Take it easy. We'll find Jim, I promise." McCoy pushed Spock back down and shook his head as he went out the door. "Though how much trouble he can get into, on Vulcan," he muttered, "I can hardly imagine."

_To be continued…_


	11. Chapter 11

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 11**

Neither Sarek nor Amanda were on the terrace, but after poking his head in the kitchen, McCoy was pointed in the right direction. He found them strolling in the rose garden. Amanda was looking up at her husband. McCoy couldn't hear what she was saying, but her hand was in his. He looked more settled than he had when he'd walked away from the table before. At least he appeared to have finished his meditations and they had done him some good.

Sarek stiffened and gave McCoy a cool stare as he approached. He didn't take his hand from his wife's. Apparently there were limits to how much he was willing to modify his behavior to accommodate strangers under his own roof or his own grounds and, with all the gardens for McCoy to wander in, his stance plainly said, _I walked away the first time. This time you back off_. McCoy muttered under his own breath an imprecation against both Jim and Spock for forcing him to brave Vulcan ire in the Vulcan's own den. But he came on anyway.

"Sorry to intrude," he said, since the Vulcan's body language made it clear that was exactly what he was doing, and went on to explain his mission.

Sarek flicked a brow, apparently unimpressed. "Would not Captain Kirk deem it an unwarranted invasion of his privacy?"

"In normal circumstances, yes," McCoy said, not missing the point Sarek was obliquely making about the violation to his own. "But Spock is pretty adamant that he thinks Jim might be in trouble."

"He thinks." Sarek's brow creased in skepticism, but at least his stiffened shoulders dropped a little in consideration of this intellectual problem. "Doctor, we have just discussed that Spock has been suffering from nightmares – delusions, if you will. You were of the opinion that this was an acceptable outcome of his condition. Is not this merely yet another symptom?"

"Nightmares are only delusions if you're awake when you have them," McCoy said dryly.

Sarek tilted his head in a manner that suggested that to a Vulcan this was splitting the finest of hairs. "Nevertheless, Spock has been extremely agitated."

"Perhaps it seems so from a Vulcan perspective. I would hardly consider his behavior extreme, given the circumstances."

"But you yourself have indicated that you believe his behavior has been a normal consequence of his condition. Is not this …present distress… simply just more of the same? Are you not changing your views rather swiftly, from disregard to concern?"

"I don't know that I'd say that," McCoy said slowly. "Thought I suppose to you it may seem so. What you can't know is that Jim and Spock are pretty darn attuned to one another, much of the time. Maybe most of the time. Particularly when it counts. Call it human intuition on Jim's part. Call it what you want on Spock's. But it's what makes them such a good command team. And it's saved our hides more than once in space. I've come to rely on both of them to have good intuitions in these kinds of situations. If Spock says Jim might be in trouble, then I'd bet my last credit it bears at least a check."

"Even in his present condition?" Sarek asked, with a skeptical brow.

"I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt," McCoy said stubbornly.

"Sarek, it can't possibly hurt to check on Jim, can it?" Amanda asked. "He has Spock's flyer."

"Captain Kirk is not a child," Sarek said, looking down at her, brows raised in Vulcan astonishment. "By any human standards. Further, he is not **my** child. I have no rights in that regard. And," he gave McCoy a narrow glance, "the Captain has seemed intolerant of parental …interference… even as it regards to Spock from his own parents. Given his present attitude, it would be entirely inappropriate for me to 'check up', as you put it, on the Captain's activities."

"He **is** our guest," Amanda said firmly.

"That does not grant me the license to pry into his personal affairs. I am sure the Captain would entirely agree."

"I see Jim's reputation has preceded him." McCoy said dryly. "And I know he's been a bit testy since we arrived. But I kinda doubt Jim is involved in any 'affairs' of that sort. Jim's a fast worker, but --"

"He's new to Vulcan," Amanda said to Sarek, side-stepping that discussion. "And even if," Amanda gave McCoy an apologetic look, "he is engaged in some private activity and is perfectly well, surely if the Captain understood your reasons, that Spock had been distressed, he would excuse the circumstance." She drew a breath and looked back at her husband stubbornly. "If you won't go looking for him, Sarek, then I will."

"Me, too," McCoy added. "That's three against one, counting Spock."

Sarek shook his head, in a facsimile of human exasperation, looking from one to the other of them. "This is not a situation that derives from democratic voting," he said.

"Spock was doing his best to climb out of bed to go after him," McCoy warned. "So if someone doesn't go, we're going to have an insurrection on our hands from that quarter. And Spock is damn determined when he needs to be, up to stealing a Starship to get what he wants."

"That is hardly behavior I would yeild to," Sarek said.

"Trust me. When Spock gets going..."

"Sarek," Amanda began, looking vexed. "Just **do** it."

Sarek looked at her, and then almost audibly sighed. "As you are both human, and deem it appropriate," Sarek continued, "Then I will concede to your superior knowledge and do as you bid. Alone," he added, when McCoy made as if to follow. "**One** person invading the Captain's privacy is surely more than enough."

"But you believe you can find Jim?" McCoy asked anxiously.

"That will not be a problem."

"Thank you," McCoy said, relieved. "I realize it may violate your Vulcan sensibilities. I appreciate it. Spock will too. I'll go and tell him."

"If the Captain is upset," Sarek threw over his shoulder, as he headed for the hanger court, "**You** will explain this to him. I certainly will have no logical explanation to give him."

"Do you think Jim really could be in trouble?" Amanda asked, looking after her husband.

McCoy thought back to all the times Spock or Jim had just known something, past all evidence or logic.

"I think he might be."

Amanda sighed. "He's only been here a couple of days. Is it always like this, with them? Going from the frying pan into the fire?"

"Amanda," McCoy said morosely, "I'm afraid you have no idea."

_To be continued..._


	12. Chapter 12

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 12**

At the edge of the gardens, halfway between the hanger court and the house, Sarek paused, looking up to the terrace roof that held Spock's penthouse. And, making a decision, he abruptly changed course.

He climbed the stairs rapidly, wanting to hear Spock's concerns himself.

But when he opened the door to Spock's suite, he found his son, not in bed as he'd been left, but on his knees on the floor in the outer room, struggling to rise, breathing hard, fighting to get to his feet and out a door that might have been on the Terran moon for all his ability to reach it.

"Spock!" Sarek said sharply.

Spock looked up, scrabbling helplessly. "Jim…is in trouble."

"You can not help him like this," Sarek said, and picking Spock up, carried him back into the bedroom, ignoring his fruitless struggles.

"No," Spock said. "No!"

That was not a word Sarek had been used to hearing directed from his son to himself, at least not until the fateful day when Spock had broken with a dozen years of duty and obedience to defy him by entering Starfleet.

To hear it again from Spock was the rubbing of salt in an eighteen year wound that had only recently begun to knit.

"Calm yourself," Sarek said, struggling for control as well.

As if realizing his protests were fruitless, his strength not equal to the task, Spock stopped, and as Sarek lowered him onto his bed, he raised his eyes in entreaty.

"The Captain is in trouble."

"Spock," Sarek began, striving for patience, "you have been distressed--"

"No."

Sarek drew up at that word, stepped back, displeased by Spock's refusal to heed him.

Unregarding, Spock continued. "I am sure of it."

"How are you sure?" Sarek asked.

"I…just…am." Spock said, and his hands involuntarily went to his temples, as if his head was aching. As if he was trying to tune something out – or tune something in.

Sarek's eyes narrowed. He'd half discounted McCoy's human talk of hunches and intuitions. But his son was **not** human.

"Spock," he said and, from where he had stepped back, he took half a pace toward him, close enough to touch.

Spock exploded in near panic, flattening against the headboard of the bed, eyes stormy.

"No!"

Sarek halted as if pole axed. "I didn't -- I would not—Spock--" He had not intended what Spock had assumed, to use a mind touch to understand Spock's thoughts. It shocked him that Spock had expected that. It might be appropriate in a younger child, but not in a young adult of Spock's age, not without permission. But Spock had not had any sort of filial relationship with him since he **had** been that age. And fresh from Klingon hands, where permission was not an issue, where his mind had been repeatedly, violently violated, he had reason to be momentarily confused and suspicious. His shields had been so damaged and battered in their struggle against the mindsifter that even the healers had become chary in risking any mental contact, and had counseled leaving Spock alone to recover, however slowly, under McCoy's care, without healer's intervention, fearing any more telepathic contact from strangers, even Vulcan healers, might overload and shatter Spock's battered mental shields forever.

"I only sought to understand," Sarek said. "Where… How do you know?"

"I cannot explain. I just **know**. I cannot get to him and Jim – the Captain – needs assistance." Spock raised his eyes, emotion plain on his face, unashamed, the unabashed open entreaty of his expression so like his mother's when she was upset that Sarek drew a breath and stepped back another pace, almost unable to process it, seeing the boy's mother so much in his son's uncontrolled face.

Spock misread his withdrawal as refusal, as disapproval, and his face crumpled. "Sarek. Father. Do this and I promise -- I will do …whatever you wish. Please…there is no time. You **must** go. Jim needs help. There is no one else."

The realization of what Spock was saying, what he had just offered, washed over Sarek like a wave.

"Please," Spock said, begging now.

Before Sarek could say a word the door opened behind him and McCoy and Amanda walked through.

"Sarek," Amanda said, displeasure in her voice. "What **are **you doing here?"

Sarek glanced back at his son, but there was no privacy, and no time, now to respond to Spock's entreaty.

"I am leaving now," he said, and leaving Spock to their ministries, turned his back and walked out.

Behind him, Spock closed his eyes, and sank back on the bed, breathing hard.

"It was a valid trade," he said softly. "It is necessary. And worth it."

"What?" McCoy asked, coming to sit beside him.

But Spock turned his face away, watching as Sarek's flyer disappeared through the forcescreens.

_To be continued…_


	13. Chapter 13

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 13**

Sarek hastened but did not hurry out of the Fortress to the hanger court. Before he'd reached his ship, he'd mastered the emotional fallout from his son's behavior, and was considering the situation with all due logic again.

It was not that he didn't know, intellectually, that his son had emotions. It was merely that he had never expected him to bare them so completely, had never thought to see him so overtaken by them.

"He is not well," he muttered to himself as he pushed out the gate to the hanger court, and jogged to his flyer. The _Surak _powered up in seconds. With an almost painfully bittersweet tug at his heart, he tapped in the tracking program that would triangulate on Spock's flyer.

Life would be so much easier, he thought, if he could rescue his son so simply, merely by bringing him home from where he had strayed. But he had strayed instead to Starfleet, with dangers Sarek could never protect him from. And nothing could ever be so simple or easy again.

Sarek closed his eyes against even the thought of considering the surprising offer Spock had made with his plea, but the thoughts intruded anyway. Was it a subconsciously expressed wish? Was Spock ready to remain on Vulcan, even under the guise of being importuned to do so? Or had he indeed made the offer purely out of stress, out of emotional desperation and concern, however unfounded?

Sarek released the antigrav tethers, swooped out of the hanger and through the force screens, nosing the flyer toward the Shikahr and the Terran enclave where he expected the Captain would be, among Starfleet and his own kind. But his mind was more with Spock, thinking of him back in his suite at home, battered and broken, anxious and entreating, than on James Kirk. No doubt the Captain was engaged in some perfectly logical activity, conferring with Starfleet colleagues, or engaged in some illogical but normal emotional activity for humans. Vulcan Space Central was in complete control of this quadrant, and Starfleet had only a token presence on Vulcan, but there were some of Kirk's colleague here. With sailors, tradesmen, diplomats, businessmen and tourists came the kind of…diversions… that some humans favored. He expected to find Kirk, if not associating in some professional capacity with his colleagues, then to be taking advantage of some of these.

It was the tracking program that drew him out of his brief reverie, beeping annoyingly as the _Surak_, under Sarek's course, deviated from its sensor readings.

Sarek glanced down, with a trace of irritation, and then his brows rose. He looked, not toward Shikahr but toward the location that the tracking device indicated: the target destination being far across the desert Forge, in a remote corner of the Llangons. One used as a wildlife preserve for, among other things, lematya so troublesome they'd been forcibly relocated away from populous areas. Sarek had been responsible for ordering some of those relocations.

Swinging his craft around, Sarek spared a thought that perhaps Spock knew his Captain better than he had assumed. Nor had he underestimated the danger.

Powerful as the _Surak_ was, Sarek pushed it to its limits.

_To be continued…_


	14. Chapter 14

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 14**

After hours without water in the Vulcan heat and dry air, trapped in the equivalent of a stone oven, watching the shadows lengthen and Eridani dip toward the horizon, Kirk was seesawing emotionally between hope and despair. On the one hand, if he didn't show up for dinner, surely someone -- at least McCoy -- would wonder about him – wouldn't they? Even if Spock was too ill to act, McCoy was there. But remembering too many overstayed returns from shoreleaves, nearly AWOL, he revised that expectation. McCoy would probably expect him to be late. But at least by tomorrow morning, if he hadn't come back, someone would consider **that** a problem. Even McCoy.

The lematya stayed right outside his hidey-hole, and appeared content to catnap. Kirk remembered Spock telling him they were nocturnal, so this was its normal sleeping period. The cat snored, its fluted sand spattered jowls fluttering as it breathed in and out, sometimes purring in its sleep, its great paws kneading the sand, its claws flexing and retracting in its murderous dreams. But even with the evidence before Kirk, it was still hard not to think of it as just a big cat.

Kirk tried to find another way out of his crevice, even digging with his fingernails in hope of finding some soft spot in the stones or sand. But the stones were unyielding. The cat woke up periodically, particularly when he moved. Kirk hoped it would give up and go away, but it appeared philosophical. Unless something better came along, it seemed content to wait him out, knowing eventually, like all creatures, he'd need water. Or perhaps just waiting until nighttime, its preferred hunting time, to exert itself and dig its way in.

He couldn't help sending mental SOSs to Spock. It might not be fair to distress him when he was already so ill, but sans communicator, it was all Kirk could do. And he knew it had worked before, more than once. If Spock could hear or sense him, if Spock could do anything, he would.

But as the long Vulcan afternoon wore on, Kirk began to despair. He put his fingers to his temples, thinking of the few times he'd touched minds to Spock and sent thought bombs to him, desperate to reach him. It was that or face the lematya. And he didn't want to do that in the dark.

He began to get irritable, gasping for breath, desperate for water. In frustration, he flung pebbles, and then rocks at the big cat, testing his aim. Disturbed from its catnaps, it snarled and paced, scoring the ground and Kirk backed off, intimidated. But then, frustrated, he taunted the cat again, trying to figure out how it would attack and how he could best it. But the thing was huge. He couldn't see a way to squeeze out through those stone pillars and still have the maneuverability to attack it or get past it.

And he got hotter, and thirstier and more irritable. As the afternoon advanced, he couldn't seem to get enough air in his lungs. He'd forgotten to take any triox this morning, and his last dose had long worn off. His head ached, both from the thin air and from the effort he was making to reach Spock. He was only getting weaker, and as the sun set, the nocturnal cat would only become more dangerous. Perhaps he had better act now.

He was gearing himself up to make a rash move when he saw a familiar flyer arrowing through the sky. The one he'd so admired in the hanger. Sarek's flyer.

It was too much to hope, he thought, that Spock would be piloting it.

Come to think of it, Spock was in no shape to take on a lematya. Though if Spock could just distract it, he warranted they could both get free.

Sarek's flyer swooped over the area, hovering over Spock's little flyer. Kirk had left the wing door open. Not seeing him there, the flyer circled the area, looking. It hovered again noting the big lematya. The cat looked up, snarling and spitting at the craft, not at all cowed.

The flyer turned and landed in the sand. The hatch opened and Sarek came out. Unbelievably, he was barehanded, carrying no weapon.

"No!!!" Kirk shouted, poking his head out of the opening.

The cat turned and whuffed at Kirk, who ducked back inside hastily. It seemed to realize that a person in open country was easier to catch than a cornered mouse, and it loped off toward Sarek.

The Vulcan stood his ground, his shoulders relaxed. He feinted loosely as the cat crouched, and ducked as it sprang.

"Damn!" Kirk said, truly alarmed at the sight of Spock's father standing there, waiting for the creature, with not so much as a phaser in his hand. He scrambled hastily out of his hole, scratching his stomach against the stone pillars in the process again, so that now his shirt hung in tatters.

Sarek let the cat go past him, ducking under its shoulder. He rolled and in one smooth gesture he was back on his feet again.

Kirk thought he understood the Vulcan's tactics. Distract and evade. If each one of them distracted the cat in turn, they could both make it back to one of the flyers. He ran up behind the creature, eager to take his turn, and with a yell, he tugged hard on its tufted tail.

The creature turned in an instant, much faster than Kirk had expected. It was hard to say who looked more horrified: Kirk as he faced off on the huge animal's snarling fangs and outstretched claws, or Sarek, who totally lost countenance seeing Kirk had joined the fight. Sarek's face twisted in a feral snarl equal to the cat, and his voice matched it. "Kroykah," he shouted at Kirk.

Kirk was too busy with a face full of cat to pay attention to what Sarek was saying, particularly in a language he didn't understand. "Whoa! Down, girl!" Kirk said, and tried to mimic the same roll and dodge the Vulcan had done, wheezing like a bellows as he fought to get air in his lungs.

But the game plan had changed. Sarek had leapt onto the creature's back and had his hands clenched around the huge neck, apparently trying for a neck pinch. The creature struggled and battled to dislodge him. Kirk backed up and found a boulder, big enough for him to lift, hopefully big enough to stun the creature, and not smash its skull in. He didn't think Sarek would appreciate that. He waited for an opportunity. Sarek's hands clenched and clenched again as he fought for the right hold. The creature's eyes rolled and it dropped its head. Seeing his chance, Kirk flung his rock, grunting with the effort to throw it straight and hard. It hit the cat square between the eyes, his long practice during the day with smaller rocks paying off in honing his high gravity throwing skills.

It was difficult for Kirk to say whether it was the neck pinch or the rock, or both together, but the cat dropped just like the rock. Kirk leapt back, keeping well clear of the dangerous claws, and Sarek, caught off guard by the creature's abrupt change in position, tumbled over its head and shoulders and landed with an audible thump on the sand.

Kirk ran up. "Are you all right?"

Blinking, Sarek looked at him in disbelief, and then hastily turned his attention to the cat, checking to ensure it was truly out. He felt in the lematya's neck for a pulse. Evaluating its rhythm against his own time sense, his shoulders dropped in visible relief. "It is safely unconscious," he said to Kirk. "We have fifteen minutes before the effect of the neck pinch will wear off. Let us say ten, for safety's sake. Provided you did not seriously injure it." He spared Kirk a brief puzzled glance. "Why did you hit it with the rock?"

"I thought you could use the help."

Sarek shook his head from where he was now examining the bones of the lematya's skull. "The cranium bone is not broken, but there is a bump. I suppose I can have a vet swing by and check in an hour, to ensure the creature gets up." Then he looked up and reacted visibly, almost becoming pale as his attention was diverted from the big cat to the Captain, his gaze riveted on Kirk's midsection "How… how did you come by those injuries?"

Kirk looked down at his tattered, shredded shirt. "They're just scratches."

"From the lematya?" Sarek asked.

Kirk was startled. "No! No. I just got scratched squeezing through those stones there." He pointed.

"You are quite sure? The cat did not touch you? Not at all?"

"No. I'm fine."

Sarek's shoulders dropped, and he let out an audible sigh of relief. "What **are** you doing here?" He finally asked, unable to completely control his exasperation.

Kirk flushed. "I was just …seeing something of the planet." He straightened, somewhat belligerently. "I thought that was the point of offering me a flyer."

"I do not mean the planet. I mean **here**," Sarek said. "**This** is no place for you. It is a wildlife preserve."

"How would I know that?"

Sarek drew up a brow. "It is posted with navigational beacons every fifty kilometers. The animals here are considered incorrigibly dangerous to normal populations. Particularly that lematya."

Kirk's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "I didn't notice any beacons." He hesitated, thinking of his high altitude flying antics, and the final loop-de-loop in from high up in the stratosphere down. "I might have been a bit above normal flight paths and came down fast, at the last." He admitted, and then sought for a diversion, knowing the best defense was a good offense. "Anyway, how can **you** possibly know **this** particular lematya?"

"It was making an unconscionable nuisance of itself around the Fortress last spring," Sarek said. "I relocated it here myself."

Kirk raised his own brows at that. "Your neighbors don't mind you dumping your nuisance wildlife here?"

"There are no neighbors," Sarek said, looking at Kirk in puzzlement. "These are my family's lands."

"This is hours from your home."

"Quite." Sarek flicked a brow again. "Our clan lands run from the Sashar to T'Lang."

"That includes the whole capital city of Shikahr," Kirk said, startled.

"Yes, naturally. Shikahr has always been our clan seat. That is why the Fortress guards the city." He eyed Kirk and shrugging, gave up the point. "I'll simply have the Ground Patrol Force investigate any future encroaches on preserve territory," he muttered and straightened. "Captain. We are running out of time. The lematya will wake up in a very few minutes and in a very bad temper. I believe I have had more than enough exercise for one day and don't care to wrestle her again. Nor will her skull or her temperament improve with more rock impacts. The others are waiting at home for us. You have been fortunate to escape serious injury, but every minute increases the odds that another altercation will ensue. It's time for us to depart. If you would proceed to the _Surak_…"

"I can drive myself," Kirk said, turning for Spock's flyer.

"No. You cannot." Sarek said.

Kirk set his teeth, his temper, fueled by a long thirsty day in a Vulcan oven, flared like a super nova at this, and swung back around. "Look, I'm not insensible of the danger I was in. I appreciate the rescue. But I'll be damned if you'll assume that because I got caught by some of your wildlife, that just because I missed the posting restrictions, that I'm incompetent in general. I'm not conversant in Vulcanur, but I am a starship captain. I can fly the damn aircar back to your house."

"Look at your fingernails," Sarek said shortly.

It was such an unusual request, Kirk stopped in mid-tirade and stared at him.

"Look at them, Captain," Sarek ordered. "Now."

His voice had altered, from the even notes of the conference room that was its usual tenor, to a perceptible snap of authority. And not just his voice, but every line of his body. Kirk had spent the last half of his life in a military situation. He recognized that posture. Against his will, Kirk looked down at his hands. "What the--"

"The nail beds," Sarek said shortly. "Observe. They are tinged blue. You are suffering from hypoxia, Captain. You do understand what that means."

Kirk stared at them. He'd lived too long in space, subject to environmental systems, and cautious of their failure, not to understand Sarek's justifiable concern. He'd had it drilled into him at the academy. Hypoxia: the lack of oxygen, could cause irritability, poor judgment, euphoria, errors in coordination, dizziness, even visual impairment. He looked up at Sarek, blinking, suddenly feeling the effects of his condition.

"Do you think you are the first outworlder come to Vulcan, who has crashed an aircar in the Llangons as a result of misjudging their acclimation to Vulcan's oxygen levels? We make every effort to prevent such occurrences, of course. But there are still those that manage it."

"I didn't crash," Kirk said.

"Nor will you," Sarek retorted. "Because you are not piloting the flyer back." He relented, "Triox would alleviate the immediate symptoms, but I have none with me, nor would I presume to supplement your excellent Dr. McCoy and prescribe for you. Even if I did, you are dehydrated and in no condition to fly. But triox is not required beyond a temporary acclimation period. In a matter of weeks or months, humans adjust to Vulcan's oxygen levels without any need for medication." He flicked a brow. "At the moment, however, you are in no condition to pilot even a flyer."

"All right," Kirk said,trying to leash his own irritability, now that he was reminded of the cause. "I suppose you can drop me off tomorrow, and I'll bring the flyer back then."

"I do not think you will be returning to the Preserve. And there is no need for anyone else to do so," Sarek said, pausing by Spock's flyer. "It is a child's craft. It has a tagalong feature." He ducked his head into the small craft and tapped a sequence of keys into the control panel before moving onto the _Surak_. He gestured at the open hatch. "Get in."

The _Surak _had powered up even before Sarek had fully settled at the console. As the larger craft lifted, Kirk could see Spock's little flyer swoop up and settle in formation just at the _Surak_'s flank, well clear of the power nacelles. As they flew through the encroaching dusk, Kirk could see that it did tag along, following along at the _Surak's _heels like an eager puppy, totally under Sarek's control.

He wasn't much of one for omens, but seeing that, he had to close his eyes, suddenly, against a splitting headache. He told himself it was the hypoxia that made him feel so sick. Probably that was fueling his irritation.

The Surek could have gotten home in short shrift, but Sarek held the bigger craft back to not overtax Spock's flyer. Though that flyer had a turn of speed that Kirk hadn't been fully aware of, unlike any flyer he had ever known. But it still took them over an hour to get back. Sarek used the communication system once, merely to tell Amanda that they were both on their way and uninjured. Kirk suspected McCoy would give him what-for, but he was grateful for Sarek's matter of fact check-in, the typical Vulcan understatement that made him totally skip the whole lematya fight. Indeed, it seemed to have slipped his mind entirely, if the Vulcan's brown study was any guide. He seemed sunk in some consideration that appeared to occupy all his thoughts. Kirk spared a glance at Sarek, wondering at it, but not presuming to ask. He had his own behavioral excesses to ponder over. And the reasons for them that had nothing to do with hypoxia. He wanted to pilot more than a flyer. And he wanted Spock as his First Officer.

They both flew through the encroaching night, caught unknowingly in the same worry, the same fear, the same frustrated hope. Both of them wanting Spock in their worlds. Neither of them sure if that wanting was in Spock's best interests. Doubting their own motives. And most of all, doubting their knowledge of what Spock would ultimately choose.

To be continued…


	15. Chapter 15

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 15**

Back home at the old Fortress, McCoy was shaking his head over the Vulcan's tricorder readings. Pocketing her communications unit, Amanda told Spock that Sarek had found his Captain and that Jim had been unaccountably delayed for some reason, but was coming back with Sarek now.

"You see that?" McCoy demanded acerbically. "I **told** you he'd be all right. You've gone and fretted yourself into a fever for no good reason." He loaded a hypospray and pressed it to Spock's arm.

"I don't want to sleep," Spock protested flinching away, too late. "I planned to read until Jim returned."

"Vulcans," McCoy said, uncharitably. "This is just a little levanol, to bring down your temperature. Seven degrees of fever and you think you can read? What you need to do is eat."

"Good point," Amanda said. "I'll order T'Rueth to bring something up."

Spock shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

Amanda sighed and McCoy scowled at him.

"All right. Read if you want, then, if you can keep your eyes focused on a page for more than five minutes, which I sincerely doubt you'll be able to do."

"I'll read to him," Amanda offered. "Provided you try to eat a little, Spock." She looked at McCoy. "After Jim and Sarek get back, I'll eat with them."

She picked up _Alice in Wonderland_ again where she had had left off. T'Rueth brought up a tray and McCoy managed to get Spock to drink some juice, warning him if he didn't take some fluids to counterbalance his fever, he'd put him on a drip. At that threat, Spock drank half a glass of juice and nibbled on some fruit, but that satisfied McCoy. With his stomach shrunk from starvation, Spock wasn't up to more than the smallest of meals.

McCoy sat back and made himself a meal from the laden tray, listening to Amanda read, more because he was too weary to move than from any real interest in archaic fiction, however classic. But Amanda had a lovely reading voice and she did all the characters beautifully. Eyeing Spock to see how he was taking some of the more ridiculous parts, McCoy could see that while the sound of his mother's voice seemed to relax him at some level, at another, he was listening, his body still was cued to another's footfall, another's step. McCoy knew this command team well enough to understand that Spock wouldn't rest easy until he saw Kirk back safe himself. In spite of Sarek's cryptic message, he suspected Jim had gotten himself into some trouble, to key Spock up like that. He vowed to have it out with Jim when he got back.

Vulcan flyers were unusually quiet, like all machines on this planet where the inhabitants had keen hearing, but there was a visible flash as Sarek's craft slipped through the force shields, and Amanda looked up from her book.

"They're home," she said, looking relieved. "At last. What a day." And the three of them, looked up, waiting.

_To be continued…_


	16. Chapter 16

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 16**

Kirk had thought to detour to his room and quickly switch his shirt, but in the end, he gave up that idea, and chose to brazen it out. It wouldn't have done him any good anyway. He'd need a triox shot from Bones, and McCoy had a medical scanner that, before he got the shot, would reveal every scratch and scrape.

And Spock, who sat up as he came in the door to his room, didn't need a medical scanner. His eyes swept over Kirk, and dissected everything from the tenor of his walk to the rise and fall of his chest. Four years of service together had made him an expert in James T. Kirk. He cataloged everything with Vulcan ruthlessness, and he didn't have to ask any questions. He knew.

Amanda, however, was not only human, she was a mother. She gave her husband and Kirk one astonished glance and passing over Kirk as being outside of her purview, frowned at Sarek. Kirk hadn't thought the Vulcan's clothes had suffered much in the lematya fight, but Amanda apparently had the same radar toward Sarek that Spock did with him.

"What have you two been doing?" she asked. "Rolling in the dirt? You haven't been fighting with each other have you?"

"Only with a lematya," Kirk said, making that confession with an attempt at a smile. "But a big one."

"You remember Lauresa?" Sarek asked Amanda.

"Lauresa?" She turned to Kirk, her voice rising. "You're on Vulcan for all of three days and you have to find the biggest lematya on the planet to pick a fight with?"

"That's our Jim," McCoy said dryly, shaking his head. "I can see you got the worst of it," he added, eyeing Kirk's trademark shredded shirt.

"You didn't see the lematya," Kirk boasted. "Sarek hit her high; I hit her low."

"I give up," Amanda muttered. "You are grounded."

"With all due respect, Lady Amanda, you can't ground me," Kirk said, smiling and polite, but with steel behind it.

"Well, then, **you're** grounded," Amanda turned to Sarek. "There will be no more fighting lematya by anyone in this house. I absolutely forbid it."

"**I** can ground Jim," McCoy declared. "And I damn well will."

"You're the one who told me to find some interests, Bones," Kirk said, pouring himself a glass of juice and downing it in one gulp. He sighed with relief and poured another.

"Fighting lematya wasn't one that I had in mind. And I can hear you wheezing from here. Fluids you obviously need, but don't drink them so fast. When you're dehydrated it can make you sick. Did you forget to take your triox again?"

"Guilty as charged," Kirk said.

"And you look like you could use some sonics on those bruises and some newskin on those scrapes. A doctor's work is never done, not around you two." McCoy glared at Spock. "Time for you to get some rest, now that Jim is home. I can only handle one patient at a time."

"I agree," Amanda said. "I'll tell T'Rueth to serve dinner downstairs in…fifteen minutes?"

"Half an hour," Kirk said. "I need to shower and change after Bones does his doctoring.

"And I have to call the vet to look at that lematya," Sarek said.

McCoy ushered Jim out the door and Amanda followed, leaving Sarek alone with his son. Neither one of them had quite expected it, nor were quite ready for it.

_To be continued…_


	17. Chapter 17

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 17**

Spock's eyes followed Jim out the door without a trace of anxiety, indeed with relief in every line of his body. After his stressful day, he seemed at peace, at least as regards Jim. It came back again to Sarek that his son's condition earlier today had not been due to dreams or delusions or nightmares, but a justifiable concern, given the circumstances, and his own attunement with his Captain. He was sane; his mind sound, or at least Sarek's recent fears had proved to be unfounded. He was simply a very strong telepath, stronger than Sarek or his son's previous esper tutors had divined. That might prove dangerous in itself, considering the profession his son had entered. The stresses of a confined shipboard life, without even the necessity of personal space to separate him from hundreds of undisciplined, unshielded human minds, had left him unusually sensitive to those he associated with most closely. No doubt it hardly fostered his son's practice of the logical disciplines. But at least there was no real evidence that the Klingon mindsifter had irreparably shattered his mind as had been previously feared. Not yet.

Sarek let out a little sigh on that thought, a breach in his own control that attracted Spock's attention. His son's eyes rose to his. And with that meeting, the consciousness, the memory, of his emotional behavior before Sarek had left to retrieve the Captain flooded into them. A trace of embarrassment crossed his face as well before he ducked his head, his typical mannerism when he was trying to conceal his emotions before his father. It was a gesture so familiar to Sarek it hit him like a blow, took him back in time as if the eighteen years of distance between them had never been, as if that period vanished in a mote of Vulcan sunlight and Spock was eighteen or younger, the child he had been before Starfleet had become the prevailing issue, the ultimate cleaver that had separated their lives.

"Thank you, sir." Spock's voice was so low, even Sarek had to strain to hear it.

"Captain Kirk is a guest in my own. Our home," Sarek corrected himself. "His well being is also my concern. Thanks are -- " he avoided the harsh censure of illogic he would normally have assigned, and merely said, "unnecessary, my son."

Spock risked a brief glance at what the acceptance that title, so recently resumed, meant to their relationship. And this conversation. But still, the tension had returned to his shoulders. His hands, concealed under the light blanket, were clenched into fists. "Never-the-less, I am … grateful," he said in that same low voice. Between them was the consciousness of what Spock had so rashly promised in his desperation.

Sarek looked down at his son's bent head and taut shoulders, the tip of one pointed ear - and how relieved he'd been, at the first sight of his infant son, to see that characteristic Vulcan feature – just visible through the tumbled raven silk of his too long hair. And though he had never seriously considered Spock's wild promise as being valid, part of him had been, was still, so tempted by it.

_I could have him so easily. One word from me now and his honor alone would hold him here. Amanda would not approve at the exigency, however much she wants him home. And it would hardly be honorable in me. But I could have him – by his own promise, given in trade. He would never speak of it. She would never know._

And in spite of his awareness that his own honor would be ever forfeit to it, it was still tempting. After eighteen years of strain and worry, the prospect was far more attractive than his wayward child could ever realize. At least, Spock would never understand that a child's life is precious enough to lure even a son of Surak to forfeit his honor and lose his control. Perhaps not until he one day had a child of his own. Then Spock might understand.

_But I could never have him thus. He __**would**__ honor his promise and stay. But he would never be mine. It would be between us, always._

Eighteen years ago, Sarek would not have cared, would not have hesitated to bring Spock home by any means, convinced that he was right. Then Sarek had been sure that the passing fancy of Starfleet was merely a rebellious, undisciplined phase that with time and training he could – and should -- eradicate from his son. Or at least suppress, much as he'd done with his son's emotions.

But that was then. It came to him now that, however tempting the prospect, he did not want Spock kept home by force. Then, dealing with a naïve and sheltered teenager, he'd been justified, perhaps, in believing he had the right to make that decision for Spock. But he did not have that excuse now. And even if he had some rights over him, as a clan leader, as a parent, now he wanted Spock to choose Vulcan willingly. Or if his Starfleet career was closed, at least his enforced return home would not be at his own hands. He knew what he had to do.

"There is no obligation," he said. For all his control, his voice came out sounding harsh. He could not help that, as he gave up a hold that any time in the past eighteen years he would have ruthlessly used, had Spock been so rash as to place himself in such a position of obligation.

Spock did not move. Did not react. It was as if he refused to understand. Or perhaps he did not believe him. Sarek could understand that. He didn't quite believe he was doing this, himself.

Sarek sighed, just a little. Summoning a discipline that came hard even after a century of practice mastering his own desires, he let go the emotion of regret he felt as well.

_I think Amanda would be pleased I am doing this. But there is no occasion for her to ever know. _He forced control back on his own voice, with the same ruthlessness toward his own emotions that he had once demanded of Spock, so that his next words came out sounding gentle. He would not even use the familial title that, in itself, could be construed as a tacit demand for obedience. "It **is** all right, Spock."

He'd puzzled, perhaps shocked him. Spock raised his head, disbelief, perhaps relief, bringing his eyes back up to search his father's.

"It's all right," Sarek repeated, more firmly this time, using an English colloquialism in an effort to enable Spock to understand.

The tension, in his shoulders, in his hands, melted from Spock's body, even as his eyes widened in wonder. He let out his held breath in a sigh of his own. "Really?"

Sarek flicked a brow, half amused, even in this situation. "I am not used to having my word doubted, my son."

"I—I--" Spock stuttered like a five year old at even this gentle chastisement, reminding Sarek how once, before he'd gone to Starfleet, Spock had yielded to his lightest command, had been flushed and shamed at even the mildest reproof. It was with an effort that Spock managed to shake himself back down to some semblance of control. "I am …sorry." He grated out the words, striving for control.

_He is __**still**__ such a child_, Sarek thought. _If you must make me do this, do you have to be so young still, and make me regret it even more?_ _If I thought I could retrain you…_He had to look away briefly, before the knowledge of that tempted him to take back what he had just relinquished.

"Thank you, father," Spock's voice came to him.

Sarek closed his eyes, shocked himself at how much pain he felt at a title that both gave him his son back, but in a conversation where he had, perhaps, lost him yet again.

_I could have kept him here. But he would have called me Sir to the end of our days. Or I could relinquish him, perhaps to choose Starfleet again, and have the relationship, and the title, but not the child. Never the child._

_If he chooses Starfleet yet again._

Sarek forced himself to look down at his son, as if looking at Spock could tell him what he would choose, but all he saw was that Spock was shuddering again, this time from fatigue and reaction. He was still so very ill.

"You need to rest, Spock. You are still unwell, and this has been a stressful day." Sarek was grateful himself, to put aside all future considerations, and deal with more immediate concerns. He helped settle Spock back in his bed and covered him. Spock dropped into an exhausted sleep even before Sarek had finished tucking the quilt over him.

Sarek looked him over, the marks from the mindsifter burns fading from his temples, the vicious scars from restraints on his wrists and ankles fading even more slowly. Spock had always been underweight, but the Klingons had given him only enough water to keep him alive in the weeks he'd been in their custody, and had kept him in freezing conditions, well aware how that taxed Vulcan control. There were scars on his back from some sort of whip. The Klingons had a playbook to attack Vulcan control on all fronts – starvation, dehydration, cold, pain, and on top of all that, the mindsifter. The torture had run roughshod through his system, burning up resources, outrunning his metabolism. Spock had lost thirty pounds or more in their hands, had probably gone through what little body fat he'd had in the first week, and had been consuming muscle mass to keep himself alive through the rest of his incarceration. Part of the reason he was so weak. He was only slowly regaining a little of that weight on good days, most days either holding his own, or on stressful days like today, he had barely touched food. Still painfully skeletal, he looked too fragile for Vulcan, much less Starfleet.

_What have I done?_ Sarek thought and then closed his eyes against the sight of his son's wasted frame, lest it further erode his so recently avowed decision, and walked unseeing out the door, seeking the peace of meditation to reconcile himself.

He hoped it would be enough to serve him, if Spock left again.

_To be continued…_

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	18. Chapter 18

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 18**

Early the next morning, even before the silver dawn birds Spock had once promised to show him were arrowing the sky, Jim Kirk was cradling his aching head in his hands. He'd felt reasonably well after he'd returned from the Forge and McCoy's subsequent dosing. But throughout the long sleepless Vulcan night, things had begun to go sour. He felt like he was getting Mars Throat and Space Sickness combined. He hadn't had either since he was a raw cadet. The very notion of his getting something similar now offended him. Normally he wasn't one to seek out the doctor's services if he could help it. But even he felt this called for intervention.

But when he'd looked in on McCoy seeking one of the good doctor's potions, McCoy's suite was dark and empty, unused and unslept in. That could only mean he was with Spock. Kirk had no intention of bothering McCoy when he was tending his First Officer. His own more minor problems could take a second seat to that.

Anyway, he was sure he would be fine. Or if he were anywhere else he would be sure. "This planet," he muttered. He was almost beginning to believe he'd rather face T'Pring and a lirpa than another day in Spock's home.

Through the night he'd come to one reluctant truth. McCoy was right. He'd seen no indication that Spock was not content to have returned home.

Kirk had nothing against Vulcan, per se. He was perfectly happy to acknowledge Spock's parents' right to him here - provided it was understood, even by Spock, that this was a **temporary **sick leave. A hiatus before their return to the _Enterprise_. The problem was that absolutely no one, save himself, seemed prepared to acknowledge that. Everyone seemed determined to accept that there was a chance Spock might not recover. Even Amanda, and McCoy, humans both, seemed to forget the power of positive thinking. The whole situation was affecting him too. Nothing had gone his or Spock's way since the start of that ill fated mission landed them here. He still saw it as his duty to get them both back on the bridge, whole and competent. If Spock chose to return to Vulcan **after** he was reinstated in Fleet, he wouldn't like it. But he'd manage to deal with it. Somehow. He'd have to. But he wasn't about to accept any defeat in seeing Spock **able** to return. Yet around him all he saw were cautious faces and measured words. To him, that sort of attitude wasn't realistic, it was defeatist.

"Bunch of professional crepe hangers," he muttered, drawing increasingly labored breaths.

The spaceman in him told him to turn to the environmental controls in an air loss situation, but he'd already checked them. They were already set to a little above Earth normal oxygen. That hadn't helped. The Iowa farm boy told him the exact opposite, against all his deep space training, a fatal inclination in his more usual habitat. Open a window. Go outside.

Starfleet spent a lot of time and money training out an approach that lead to explosive decompression on a ship, but in this case, the farm boy won. He went out. The air on the balcony was even thinner, but it was also crisp and chill, especially refreshing after yesterday's desert heat. It was surprising how cold the nights were on Vulcan. It felt good on his flushed skin, even if there wasn't much oxygen in it. But there were the stars, still visible in the dawning sky. He always felt better with a large star field before him. That was one advantage of Vulcan he was perfectly willing to concede. It was unpopulated enough, relative to the planet's size, that it boasted spectacular skies. Especially out here, far from Shikahr's city lights.

The sight of the stars invigorated him. Every star seemed to have a name, and a memory. That was where he belonged, and Spock along with him. Not planet bound. It didn't matter what Spock's parents wanted, or what they could offer. None of it could compare to the stars. He'd lay odds on that. And with his luck, and his conviction, he was sure to win.

He managed to make it to the edge of the balcony before he passed out.

xxx

McCoy softly closed the door to Spock's suite. He'd spent the night there monitoring Spock's fever. Passing a long windowed wall on the way to his own rooms, his tired eyes bugged out when he saw Kirk collapsed on the terrace of his own suite. He ran through one of the outer doors, pulling out his med kit as he went.

"Jim! Jim!" McCoy swore at the result on his scanner, and pumped Kirk full of triox. Kirk stirred, some of the color returning to his face. He coughed and sat up, bracing himself against the terrace wall.

"Damn fool!" McCoy swore. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

"Get some air," Kirk wheezed.

"That's a fallacy. This is Vulcan. You can increase the oxygen level in your suite better than you can catch a breath out here. You're lucky you weren't higher up and took a tumble off the roof. That would be it for you. This is a heavy gravity planet." McCoy sat back, studying him. "You look awful."

"Thanks, Bones."

McCoy scanned him again, more thoroughly. "Jim, how much triox **did** you miss yesterday?"

Kirk rubbed his face. "All of it." He flicked a glance up to McCoy's dismayed face. "You know I'm not good taking pills, Bones."

"Did I say damn fool? I think I meant something stronger." McCoy reset his hypospray again.

"Sure that isn't one of your mickeys?" Kirk asked with an attempt at a smile.

"Very funny. Jim, you've got to take the damn pills until you acclimate. Think of Vulcan like a super hot Everest. Thin air, low oxygen. You adjust gradually. Fail to do that and you are going to do more than collapse."

Kirk drew a deep breath and struggled to rise. McCoy helped him into a chaise lounge. "I'm all right."

"Hardly. You've got all the signs of altitude sickness. People die from that, you know."

"Bones, I didn't expect to get trapped by a lematya in the desert yesterday."

"Why not?" McCoy demanded. "When are you ever **not** in trouble? It's just the latest in the Kirk series of misadventures. Trapped by a lematya. Trapped between universes. Trapped in some blasted prison on some godforsaken planet."

"I'll agree with that," Kirk said. "Vulcan being the latest in a long series of godforsaken-."

"Oh, shut up," McCoy said. "You're flushed, feverish. There's no sense arguing with you now." McCoy dialed up his hypospray again. "I know I told you to make plans for today, but you ought to forgo them. Least till we get your blood oxygen stabilized," McCoy checked his scanner again. "And you're still dehydrated."

"I've been drinking water all night. Sloshing with it, really. It doesn't help."

"That's the fever. But if you drink too much you develop other conditions. Why didn't you call me?"

"You were with Spock. I'm not that bad."

"I ought to throw you in hospital, till you get sorted out."

"Bones…" Kirk shook his head.

"But I won't. Who knows what you'd get into there. When I told you to go out yesterday, Jim, I didn't mean high altitude flying in an unshielded craft with no human environmental controls, stranding yourself in mountains that would rival Everest, without water or triox, and fighting wild animals."

"First happy day I've had here on good old Vulcan," Kirk grinned.

McCoy had to smile in spite of himself. "You're hopeless."

Kirk took a deep breath. Color had returned to his face and he breathing easier as the drugs took effect. "You seem to be managing here well enough."

"Yeah, because I take my triox. I stay hydrated. Heck, Jim, most of the time when I'm not here, I'm surrounded by doctors and healers who **know** I'm new to Vulcan, They're familiar with the problems of humans acclimating. They keep an eye on me as regards water and triox and rest. But **nobody** can help you if you don't behave with some common sense. You're not Superman."

"Well, I sure don't feel like it today," Kirk admitted.

"Are you hungry?"

Kirk grimaced. "No."

"Then you **are** sick, "McCoy pronounced.

"I'll just catch a nap. Then I'll be right as rain. Not that it does that here. "

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Let's get you to bed,"

"How's Spock," Kirk said, leaning heavily on McCoy's arm.

"Looking better than you do right now. His fever's down. Get some rest, Jim. We've got Spock well in hand."

"That's what I'm half afraid of," Kirk mumbled.

"Later." McCoy settled Kirk, pointedly leaving triox pills and a glass of water by his bed, and went to his own room to clean up thinking hopefully of breakfast. He was hungry after his long night. Trooping down the stairs, he heard his hosts' voices raised in rather heated argument. He hesitated outside the door of the breakfast room, wondering if and when to break in. Maybe he should just go round to the kitchen and beg a meal there.

"I already invited them," Amanda insisted, sounding nothing like the diffident diplomat's wife they'd first been introduced to on the Babel mission.

"This is Spock they are coming for. Disinvite them. There would be no question, at all," Sarek replied, just sounding insufferably Vulcan.

Something about that tone, since McCoy had first heard it upon meeting Spock so long ago, made him think of pins and balloons, and long to do some popping. His ears pricked regardless, waiting to hear Amanda's response.

"They don't need to stay long. Spock is going to go stir crazy if he doesn't have something to do besides dwell on his injuries."

"**When** he is strong enough. Not until."

"All he does now is sleep. And how strong does he need to be to say hello?"

"Considerably. He is a telepath. His shields have taken a severe beating. He would find it painful. It might even hinder his recovery. It is one thing for him to interact with family and close associates. Quite another to deal with strangers."

"They aren't strangers."

"They are not family."

"Are you trying to protect him, or his reputation? Or yours and your plans for his family responsibilities?"

"I will not react to personal argument. Yesterday was a stressful day for him. It's too soon."

"I think it will help," Amanda insisted.

McCoy was just thinking how interesting it was that it was Sarek who seemed bent on overprotecting Spock, when both voices fell silent. Realizing he must have been heard, he poked his head in the room, "Sorry, I don't want to intrude."

"Oh, hello, Doctor," Amanda said. "Not at all, please come in. I can **use** an advocate."

McCoy glanced at Sarek's impassive face, but the Vulcan gave him no sign to take himself elsewhere. He entered gingerly.

They traded greetings. Amanda waited a decent interval while he served himself before she started up the discussion again. "Have you seen Spock this morning, Doctor?"

"I monitored him through the night." He glanced at both of them. Sarek seemed impassive. Amanda seemed determined. "His fever's down."

"Do you think he's up to greeting the visitors we arranged for him? You were all for it, yesterday."

McCoy glanced again at Sarek. "I was. I think he could be up for a little distraction later this afternoon. I do think it would be good for him. And your wife is correct in one sense, Sarek. If we don't get him interacting, if we keep him too sheltered, that could cripple him in another way."

Amanda punctuated her assertion with a fork pointed in her husband's direction. "There. You see?"

Sarek was unmoved. "Doctor McCoy speaks from a human, a psychological viewpoint. He is not a telepath. He does not understand the potential ramifications. It's too soon."

"They are just formal greetings. Council investitures and acknowledgements. They don't need to expand beyond that **unless** Spock chooses to extend them."

"There can be many political ramifications," Sarek pointed out.

"I know that. I sit on the damn Council, too."

"**When** you choose to attend," Sarek sat back and raised a telling brow. "Which is only when the law requires it. You are most delinquent."

"Oh," Amanda let out her breath. "That is not fair! I have a job of my own you know. I don't have time to spend every day in Council thinking deep thoughts and debating the whichness of what!"

McCoy strangled on his toast, and gulped down a swallow of tea to clear his throat. Neither of the two combatants spared him a glance, having gone right back at it, hammer and tongs.

Amanda's cheeks were pink with her fury. "I have my own ivory tower to perch in at the VSA. Anyway, **you** never told me about that little requirement **before** you married me."

"It is still inconceivable to me that you did no research into my background on your own."

Amanda set her mouth and accused him with a spoon. "And I suppose **you** hired a private detective to look into **my** background before you proposed."

"Several," Sarek said, meeting her eyes evenly.

Amanda sat back, her eyes wide and her mouth open. "Well! That's the first I've heard of this. How….obnoxious! How dare you?"

Sarek flicked a brow. "It is pointless to have an emotional reaction regarding events so long ago."

"So long ago! Thank you very much!"

"Do not use this to attempt to derail the point of my argument."

"You throw in a bombshell like that and expect me to not get distracted? Fine. We'll talk about it later. And **will** we talk about it!"

"I now rather regret mentioning it."

"Just wait and you'll find out how much you **are** going to regret it."

Sarek appeared entirely undaunted by this threat. "Indeed. We shall see. My point, however, being you do **not** sit in Council often enough to be _au courant_ with the political realities. When Spock accepts Council tributes, he should be prepared with a précis of the background of those from whom he accepts pledges."

"You don't think I'd invite anyone who'd be a **problem** for Spock, do you? It's just Sofet. No one in Council, save your or me or T'Pau could be more kindly disposed to Spock than he. He helped him get into Starfleet, years ago." She caught her breath. "Oops!"

Sarek's face darkened. "That is something of a bombshell of your own."

"Don't hold it against him."

"We will discuss **that** later also."

"Remember what you said about emotional reactions to past events," Amanda pointed out.

"Never-the-less, I will have a few words for Sofet when next I see him. To return one **again** to the point in question, I concur in theory with your assessment of Sofet – even before I heard of this disturbing development. However, Spock is still hardly well enough to receive anyone outside of the family. And you did not invite only Sofet. Did you"

Amanda attempted to look innocent. "Just Sanjean."

Sarek just shook his head, the human gesture rather than the terse Vulcan negative, his Vulcan emotions seeking expression in a gesture of human exasperation. "With that I do not concur."

"I did my research **this** time. He's a peer. As much as anyone can be for Spock. He heads a coalition of independent, liberal young council members."

"I am well aware of that. I hardly approve of some of their proposals."

"You hardly approve of some of Spock's," Amanda countered, "but that's not the point. He's certainly not in one of the anti-Federation camps. He's also only a few years older than Spock. He knows him from when Spock attended Council before he went off to Fleet, though they never went to school together. And he is a distant clansman."

"Very distant."

"Clan is clan," Amanda punctuated her argument with a thrust of her fork. "**And** I had him in a class of mine. He was perfectly polite, curious, even friendly. I think he's going to be a comer in future Council politics. I like him. Sarek, it's **time** Spock met some of those who are going to be his future Council peers. He's been away too long."

"Sanjean is not a peer. Our clan stands for tradition. Sanjean is oppositional."

"Tradition, my foot. Who do you think you are sitting across from?" Amanda pulled her hair back from her round human ears. Neither I nor Spock is exactly traditional."

Sarek was indomitable. "Personal choices have nothing to do with political and sociological tenets."

"A pretty answer, but you **know **that's absolute rubbish."

"On the contrary. From a Vulcan perspective it is perfect logic. Our clan stands for all the traditions of Surak, unadulterated."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Save me from perfect logic. Anyway, I invited him, he accepted, and he's coming. If Spock doesn't want to see him he can accept his Council greetings and dismiss him in the next sentence. If he does, then they can catch up."

"Sanjean is not one I would have Spock allied with."

"It's just a visit, not the forming of a political coalition between two factions. Sanjean is not going to solicit Spock to commit political heresy. At least not today. I'm not disinviting him."

Sarek tilted his head and stared at Amanda for a full thirty seconds. She stared back. McCoy looked from one to the other, wondering what would be the outcome of this unvoiced pitched battle.

Finally Sarek finished his calculations and tilted his head in the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug. "Very well."

Amanda's lips twitched. "Meaning you've thought of six different ways to deal with any fallout, political or clan."

"Precisely. However, the personal ramifications," he noted with a raised brow, "will be **yours** to deal with."

She looked wary and for the first time, a little unsure. "Not any more, Sarek. Not since Babel."

He flicked the brow. "True. I stand corrected. And the medical repercussions will be those of the healers. And Dr. McCoy. And I will get their approval as to whether Spock's shields can handle this invasion before your visitors arrive.

Amanda smiled in relief. "Will you be here this afternoon?" She asked hopefully.

"Unlike you, I** do** have Council to attend."

"Sarek, I do the best I can. There's only one of me, you know."

"How fortunate for the Federation that is," Sarek rose from the table. Eyeing McCoy, he settled for offering his wife the traditional two fingered touch of bondmates.

"Very funny," Amanda said, touching fingers in turn. "What would you do without me?"

"Do not tempt me to address that."

"You **are** being political. Sarek, do try to come home early."

"If possible. Doctor." Sarek nodded at him and left.

McCoy finally remembered to breathe and shook his head, flabbergasted. "You two never cease to astound me. I never expected to see you of all people go nine rounds with your husband."

"It was hardly that." Amanda glanced at her watch, frowned, and returned to her breakfast.

"You sure didn't act that way on the Babel mission."

Amanda grimaced in memory. "Please don't remind me. Poor Spock. I was horrid."

"Apart from that little flare of temper at the end…"

"Doctor, you have no idea," she shook her head. "There was a lot behind the scenes that you didn't see. I am **not** a nice person. Not always, anyway."

"I don't believe that."

Amanda looked sideways at him, as if wondering whether to convince him otherwise. Then she smiled rather wickedly. "You think I'm some sweet little old lady, don't you? I almost rather like that. How I hate to dissuade you. I think that I won't."

McCoy eyed her warily, "Now I'm beginning to wonder."

She nodded solemnly. "You have no idea."

"If you keep winning arguments with Vulcans, you just might change my mind."

"That wasn't an argument," she dismissed. "You don't want to be anywhere **near** an actual argument. Neither do **I** for that matter."

"Still, you won."

"Ha," she said, returning again to her neglected breakfast. "No one, save perhaps Spock, and T'Pau herself, ever **really** beats Sarek. He's always six steps ahead. It's all tactics. He just lets you think you're winning on some minor point. Then he swoops in behind you and carries everything away. **Never** trust a Vulcan when he's letting you think you've won. I'm going to be wondering all day what he has up his sleeve." She looked pensive a moment, her brow knitted, then shrugged. "Oh well, I'll find out soon enough."

"I really don't understand you. Sometimes you bow your head and don't even look at Sarek, and sometimes you battle it out. Is that just you picking your battles?"

"Ah, " Amanda nodded. "In part. But picking times, mostly. One thing I have learned through bitter experience, Doctor. Never argue with a Vulcan who isn't in perfect control. Angry Vulcans are **lethal**. Wait till they are in a responsive, or rather responsible, mood before sticking them full of pins. It's much healthier for the human involved."

"Amen to that," McCoy said, thinking of the times he or Jim had been on the receiving end when Spock had lost it. "Though I confess I have a bad habit of niggling your son, goading a reaction. Sometimes getting more than I expected."

Amanda stared at him, pausing with a piece of toast half way to her mouth in shock. "I'm amazed you're still alive."

"Hmmm. I thought I was helping him to find his humanity."

"Ouch." Amanda shook her head. "It's **your** neck, Doctor. There's nothing wrong with teasing – Sarek, even Spock, have a mischievous sense of humor – but to goad a Vulcan **past** his control, that's an entirely different matter. Better you than me. And better you **don't**. I can't recommend it." She took a sip of tea, musing. "I can't **believe** Sarek had me investigated. Are we going to have a discussion about **that**."

McCoy's lips twitched and he shook his head. Then he grew serious. "Amanda, what's a Council investiture?"

Amanda glanced at him. "Oh, that's a long story. How can I explain the short version? You know Sarek is head of Council."

"An ambassador who's also a legislator? That's unusual isn't it?"

"Not for Vulcan," Amanda continued. "And Spock is Sarek's son."

"Yeah."

"And heir."

"It doesn't matter that he's…your…" he waggled a brow.

"No. He was presented to Council when he was three, and sealed as Sarek's heir by T'Pau. So that's not an issue. Now Vulcans are logical-"

"To put it mildly."

"But they weren't **always** logical. They have a rich and rather…feudal history. A violent one of warring clans."

"The guards with the long pikes sort of gave that away."

Amanda wagged her head reprovingly. "Now, now. You have to admit those guards make a great tourist holo at Council Keep. Though that's not why they're there. Anyway, Vulcans never forget their feudal history. Eidetic memory, inherent memory, etc. All that's buried, down deep, under the veneer of modern Vulcan civilization. The clans of Vulcan fought a lot of very bad wars. The uniting of the clans by Surak and the forms by which they reached peace are something they…revere…with an almost religious fervor. From a human point of view, anyway. They have hardly changed the ceremonies in five thousand years, in spite of their archaic form.

"Hence the guys with the pikes."

"Right. And the clan of Surak, the heads of Council are especially important. When a new heir to Council reaches maturity, every member of Council makes a point to swear a sort of fealty to the person as a symbol of part of the institution, the living chain. Spock hasn't had those yet. He hasn't been on planet. That's what Sarek and I were discussing."

"But you said he was named as heir at three."

"True, but only a mature Vulcan is able to lead Council. He's not considered to have mastered…one of the essential flaws of Vulcan's violent past. Spock wasn't mature until last year."

"When he went through Pon Far."

Amanda shook her head. "I've been with Vulcans too long. I wince when I hear you say it out loud like that. Vulcans have a myriad of euphemisms for the term. Anyway, before that a regent would have had to lead Council if something had happened to Sarek before then. But now Spock is of an age to begin receiving, and accepting, the formal acknowledgements of Council members and shouldering adult duties. Basically they're acknowledging the person as holding the institutional role, and swearing fealty to continue the Council hierarchy as an institution back to the days of Surak. So it's not at all **personal** in that sense. Spock has to do no more than formally acknowledge their fealty. But it is important to the Council members and to Spock. It's time for Spock to start dealing with the reality of his future. And if he doesn't or can't go back to Starfleet, it will remind him, assure him, he has a place and a role here to fulfill that was decided long before he chose to attend Starfleet Academy. At the very least it will give him something else to think about."

"I agree he needs that," McCoy said. "And I approve."

Amanda let out a relieved sigh.

"I have a question, though," McCoy asked curiously. "Who would have been Spock's regent if something had happened to Sarek? Would that have been T'Pau?"

Amanda grinned and pushed her hair back behind her round human ears again.

"Wow," McCoy said.

"You don't know the half of it, Doctor. Let's just say that's **one** irony I'm glad to have been spared," she replied.

xxx

Kirk was up by noon. He had a hearty brunch, and went up to check on Spock. A posse of healers was just leaving. The Vulcan looked better than he had yesterday, but not by much. "You are becoming far from regulation, Commander," Kirk noted as they sat down to play chess. "I hope you're not going native on me." He drew a belated breath at how that came out sounding a little too close to the truth.

Spock appeared bemused. "How so?"

"Well. You could get a haircut."

Spock looked across the room to where a mirror showed them both, he with his hair down past his collar. "I hadn't thought about it. It is somewhat…excessive."

"I think it's rather cute," Amanda teased from the doorway, an elderly Vulcan behind her. "Captain, may I introduce Sofet, one of Vulcan's most distinguished citizens?"

"She means one of the oldest," Sofet said. "I am honored, Captain. Even an ancient Vulcan councilor such as I am, is aware of your exploits."

"Sir," Kirk said.

Sofet turned to Spock, holding out a belaying hand when the younger Vulcan began to rise. "The honor is mine," Sofet said instead, and adding something in Vulcan, he took a step forward and made as if to lower himself. Kirk half thought the old man was falling, but then he realized it was deliberate. But before Sofet could even bend his knees, Spock had risen. "That is not necessary, Sir," Spock said – in English, in deference to Kirk.

"Given my joints are not cooperating, I will not argue with you," Sofet conceded, "though my actions are scandalous. It is traditional to acknowledge an heir upon his maturity."

"I stand acknowledged," Spock said ironically.

"Oh, what a wicked pun," Amanda said. "Captain, I believe this is yours." she held out Kirk's communicator, as Kirk put his hand reflexively to his empty comm patch. "It startled T'Jar when she was doing her chores – it must have fallen down out on the Terrace - and she went running for the Guard. She was afraid it was some terrible Terran weapon that was going to blow up the Fortress. She couldn't conceive of any mere communications device making such a horrid noise.

"It's not that loud," Kirk said, accepting the communicator.

"Vulcans," Amanda said, tilting her head in the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug. "Sofet," she added, "if you dare to remain some moments longer in a house full of terrible Federation devices, perhaps you could see me before taking your leave?"

"Of course."

"Captain," Amanda nodded politely and left.

Kirk flipped open the communicator and saw the call had been from Scotty. "Probably something about the refit," he said to Spock. "Since you're busy here, I'll check it out and see you later. Sir," he nodded to Sofet, who was looking down with interest at the chess set.

"I remember when my great grandfather gave this set to your great great grandfather," Sofet said, picking up a piece. "Perhaps a game?"

xxx

Kirk beamed up to the engineering hull cargo transporter and into organized chaos. He dodged an antigrav mat being trundled along by a Vulcan technician. Scotty was as cheerful as any chief engineer could be with a fully equipped space dock around to answer his every dream, and license to take his ship to pieces to fulfill them all.

"You look like things are going well," Kirk said. "In spite of this madhouse. What's the issue you wanted to see me about in person? The yard here giving you trouble?"

"Ah, it's a bonny yard, Captain," Scotty said. "Ne'er one so brae. We could reframe the lass from the knees up."

"I didn't know she had knees," Kirk said. He dodged another piece of machinery that defied identification. "Where can we talk without being decapitated?"

"We'll hie for my office." They passed along a viewport that showed the engine nacelles being gently towed away from the main hull.

"You're being thorough," Kirk noted.

"Weell, you said we'd be here for a bit, Captain. And the Klingons served us a fair bit of trouble. And Starfleet docks are good, mind ye, but not like this. It only makes sense to do all we can. The laddies here have gone beyond even the best of the Fleet yards. It's what I wanted to talk about, private like. Not over a communicator, so you see."

"Go on," Kirk said.

"I was talking to an engineer here, on the quiet. With a verra little trouble, just a few wee modifications, we could increase our warp drive by thirty-five percent. Even more, engine wise, is possible for these laddies. But the rest of the ship's systems couldna handle the strain, so we'll stop on a prudent, compromised note." Scotty handed over a pad with the modifications sketched out.

Kirk's eyes bugged at the specs. "Warp 15? What the hell is prudent about Warp 15?"

"Ah Captain, I'll have yon engines singing like they'll choiring in a kirk. They'll be bonny, nae ye fear."

Kirk looked through the designs, eyeing the load balances. "How reliable would these modifications be? I don't want us to discover a major problem light years from civilization. "

"Safe enough for your grandmither," Scotty asserted. "These laddies know their stuff."

"What about the cost of all this extra work?"

"Fleet has a contract here to cover emergency repairs, and so forth."

"This is a little more than 'so forth'. And this is a refit, not emergency repairs."

"Aye. But the cost could be…managed."

"Meaning you'll hide these extra modifications in with other charges," Kirk shook his head. "Would Vulcans go for that?"

"Aye, they understand a wee bit of creative accounting. These are engineers, like. Anyone who can coax warp 22 out of a matter/antimatter mix will not get bogged down by a bit of daft paperwork. I've got a verra good relationship with the head of yon yard."

Kirk did a double take at the reference to Warp 22. His eyes suddenly fixed on the logo at the top of the pad. The company logo of the shipyard. Suddenly something clicked in his mind. "All right, Scotty," he said slowly. "Make your mods."

"Aye, sir!"

"I want to check in at the bridge. Is the saucer connected at all?" Kirk asked.

"Och, nae, sir. But the lads'll beam you there, quick as a trice."

Kirk shook his head and headed back to the hull's transporter room and beamed over. The transporter room in the saucer, unlike that in the hull, was orderly. The damage here had been minimal. Most personnel were on leave, and the bridge, when he made it there, was nearly deserted. Chekov was in the com. That he'd been rather relishing having it entirely to himself was reflected in the flicker of disappointment on his face when Kirk came through the turbo doors.

"Keptin."

"At ease, Ensign," Kirk said trying not to smile at Chekhov's obvious lack of enthusiasm to see him. "This is just a visit. Anything to report?"

"Mr. Scott hoped to have the nacelles reconnected to the hull in four days, but there's been some delay. I believe he has some issues to discuss with you."

"We had that discussion, yes. Ensign, I want to you look up something for me on Spock's console." Kirk showed him a top fax sheet from the pad.

"Yes, sir. Chekov looked down. "Uh, Mr. Scott would be better able to explain these schematics to you."

"Not the specs. Tell me about the company represented by that logo." Kirk settled in the con and reviewed ship's status while Chekov employed Spock's computers.

Chekov looked up in only a few moments. "It's a werry reputable firm, Captain. All the Starfleet authorizations are current."

"I wasn't worried about that. I want to know who owns it."

"Ah…." Chekov temporized, looking through his readouts. "A holding company. Registered in the Federation for interstellar commerce as Shikahr Enterprises. That's all I have."

"Who owns **them**?"

Chekov looked further. "It's a private company," he finally answered. "I can't pronounce the Vulcan name. Werry closely held. There's not much information that's public." He looked apologetic.

"Hmmm. Do this private company have a logo?" Kirk asked, with a flash of inspiration.

Chekov looked relieved at one thing he could answer. "On the main monitor," he said, transferring his output.

Kirk was faced with an image of a lematya outstretched in full attack mode. The same image he'd seen over and over again during the last few days in Spock's home. In statuary guarding the sweep gates. On the building's frieze. In sculpture in the formal gardens. On giant tapestries in the great hall.

"I've seen that before," Uhura said, coming up behind them to relieve the Ensign, nodding at the screen. "It's woven in metallic threads on a coverlet on Mr. Spock's bed. Gorgeous embroidery."

Chekov and Kirk both swiveled to stare at her, mutely accusing.

"I have permission to go in and borrow his lyre if he's on duty," she said, replying with mildly outraged dignity to their unasked question. "Really!"

"Sorry, Lieutenant," Kirk said with a scapegrace smile. "Now that you mention it, I've seen that blanket myself."

"And the other one," Uhura said, nodding to the sheet in Kirk's hand, at the circlet of lematya, the outstretched claws of a following lematya just touching the tufted tail of its predecessor, "is engraved on his lyre. Not to mention on the coveralls of every refit tech combing through the Enterprise. It must be a pretty diverse company if they make everything from starship engines to musical instruments."

"Not to mention small craft," Kirk said. For that had been what cued him. He had thought that Amanda's comment about Warp 22 being the top speed of Sarek's flyer had been a teasing throwout number, a bogus exaggeration from someone not knowledgeable about real technical limitations. He hadn't realized she'd simply been recounting the exact truth. It wasn't until Scotty also mentioned Warp 22 that he'd put it all together. That circlet of lematya image had been on Sarek's flyer, matching the logo on the spec paper he held in his hand. And it had been on Amanda's. And Spock's little airfoil flyer. He looked at the outstretched lematya, splayed across the center screen. Given Vulcans' logical mindset, he thought there could be no coincidence that this was the exact heraldic image for Sarek and Spock's clan. He wondered, grimly, how closely 'very closely held' meant. And what that meant in credits. Not to mention financial power.

"Thinking of investing, Captain?" Uhura asked, breaking into his thoughts.

"I think I'm already invested way too deep," Kirk said lightly and rose. "Carry on, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir."

Beaming back down to the planet, he walked up from the transporter platform with a young Vulcan who looked to be about Spock's age and who introduced himself as Sanjean. Like Sofet had been, he was dressed in a formal, heavily embroidered clan shield tunic, something similar to what Sarek had worn on the Enterprise, but with a different pattern in the shield. In spite of his archaically blazoned tunic, the young Vulcan greeted Kirk in perfect Federation standard.

"I am honored to meet you, Captain. I assure you that I am not one of those Council members who believe that Vulcan and her allies should withdraw from the Federation."

Kirk was startled at this. "I wasn't aware it was an open issue."

"Oh, it's not up for question now," the young Vulcan said easily. "But I can assure you that at times it is very stridently debated. Fascinating discussions. However, like Sarek, I do not see that Vulcan remaining in the Federation is in any way a challenge to our traditions and beliefs. Vulcan, after all, has had colonies and offworlder alliances for thousands of years, yet still remained Vulcan in nature."

"I guess that so far the Federation has been lucky for Vulcan's tolerance," Kirk said with tacit irony.

"Indeed it has," Sanjean said with perfect conviction.

That gave Kirk something to think about as they walked in.

T'Jar met them, gave the Vulcan equivalent of a bob to Sanjean, bowing her head and putting her hands together in a brief gesture, and suggesting their guest follow her. She nodded to Kirk, eying the communicator on his belt suspiciously. Kirk decided to tag along. Sanjean seemed to find this perfectly acceptable.

Kirk had thought Spock would have been tired from his first guest. If that were the case, he was prepared to boot Sanjean politely out, traditional or not. But in that he was surprised. Sofet's visit had apparently done Spock real good. In fact, between the time Sofet had left him and now, Spock had had his hair trimmed and had changed clothes from a soft Vulcan sandsuit to dark slacks and a tunic, not as elaborate as Sanjean's heavily encrusted tunic, but certainly formal.

Kirk drew a breath to greet Spock, but before he could say a word, Sanjean surprised him by dropping gracefully to his knees before Spock, holding out his hands in some ritual gesture and bowing his head, while at the same time echoing some unpronounceable Vulcan formality. Spock frowned fractionally, the barest trace of expression, apparently not entirely comfortable with the gesture. But he touched hands very lightly and replied. Sanjean then rose and following Spock's gesture, took a seat.

Kirk belatedly closed his mouth, not that either of the Vulcans had noticed him. It was clear to Kirk that this was the gesture that Sofet had earlier been about to make that Spock had dissuaded him from attempting. He cleared his throat. The casual greeting he'd been about to make now seemed somehow out of place before Sanjean's ritual formality.

Spock looked at him. His face might have had a trace more of green than usual, particularly since lately he'd been so pale. But his voice was Vulcan even as he said, "Sanjean was following an ancient Council protocol, one traditional from his clan to mine."

"I've seen you do…something similar…with T'Pau." Then however, Kirk remembered, T'Pau had touched Spock's temple. Here Spock and Sanjean had merely brushed palms barely touching.

"Ah, but that was between family," Sanjean said. "Though Spock and I are distant….what is the human relational equivalent…cousins?"

"Essentially," Spock said, still looking slightly uncomfortable.

"Well, I'm glad it's not the way we hand over the con on the bridge," Kirk said, striving for lightness.

"It is traditional for a Council member upon first formally acknowledging a Council head," Sanjean said. "As I explained, Captain, I **am** a traditionalist in spite of some of my political positions."

"So you said," Kirk replied, thinking this whole situation was rapidly becoming unreal. He needed some time to regroup.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll leave you two to talk. I just wanted to let you know the refit is going well, Spock. Scotty's having a grand time. Though we may not recognize the Enterprise when we get back to it."

"Thank you, Captain," Spock said, gravely remote.

"Is it possible to see the Enterprise, Captain?" Sanjean asked. "I would find even a short tour of a Federation warship fascinating."

"The Enterprise is primarily a vessel of exploration." Kirk said. "Not a warship."

"Indeed? Then I would find it even more interesting."

Kirk glanced at Spock, and seeing he had no objections, nodded. "Leave your contact information with Spock. When she's more in shape for a tour, if we have time before we leave port, I'll let you know."

"She?"

"Ships are referred to as feminine in Federation Standard," Spock said.

"Fascinating," Sanjean said again. "Certainly I would wish to wait until Spock is able to accompany us. And perhaps, Captain, I might invite a few other interested Council members?"

"If you wish," Kirk said, seeing Spock had no objection. Rather, he seemed to be slightly puzzled, evaluating Sanjean with new eyes.

"I'll see you later, Spock," Kirk said.

Walking out of the room, he came face to face again with another one of those blasted lematya tapestries. And with his problem. Only it had turned out to be much bigger than what he had surmised it to be this morning.

He wasn't just up against Sarek and Amanda and a house and a life of privilege and scientific endeavor. He was up against much more. It wasn't just a big house, but a chunk of the planet that made even one of the huge Iowa agri-farms look like a postage stamp. Thousands of miles, at least. Not to mention the city of Shikahr. Who the hell owned a city that big? He had been worried Spock might be tempted by job offers from the Vulcan Science Academy. He hadn't known there was also what appeared to be a huge corporate conglomerate, an empire that could, probably, build a fleet of ships like the Enterprise, with Spock conning his choice of them. He had thought Spock's family was important before.

"But I didn't know his family was this important," he muttered, re-echoing his first statement on dealing with Spock's Vulcan family. "I really didn't know."

And now there was this political scenario. He knew Spock had been somehow related to T'Pau. But he had no idea Spock had a political role of his own to play on Vulcan, some inherited position that caused perfect strangers to treat him as if he were pinch hitting for T'Pau with an inevitable succession in the wings. "I don't like it," he muttered. "I don't like it at **all**."

None of this had he expected.

He was used to battling odds. But between this morning and this afternoon, the odds against prying Spock away from Vulcan suddenly had become much greater. Perhaps more than even a phenomenally lucky Starship Captain might be able to chance. Or overcome.

_To be continued….._


	19. Chapter 19

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 19**

"Hey, Bones," Kirk said, when McCoy entered Spock's room early the next morning. "Look who was out of bed all on his own when I got here. He was thinking of going down to breakfast today."

"Let's wait a bit on that," McCoy counciled. "If you have no fever this morning, Spock, and you don't spike a temp this afternoon, you can go out in the garden later today. And come down for breakfast tomorrow." He turned to Kirk. "You're up early, Jim. Just as well, I can catch two patients with one visit. How's that Mars Throat?"

Kirk scowled as McCoy scanned him. "I **took** my triox this morning."

"Good. Let's check you out Spock," he ran the scanner over Spock, then palmed it. "Not bad. Neither one of you have a fever this morning. Let see if you can hold that state for two days in a row."

There was a tap at the door, and Amanda came through with a laden tray. "Perhaps I should ask T'Rueth to serve breakfast up here," she said with amusement. "Good morning, everyone. Spock, you are looking better." She handed him a glass of juice.

"Thank you, Mother," Spock said. "I slept very well last night."

"Course that could be because you were still recovering from the worry Jim gave you with his damn fool stunt. But at least he's got no fever today," McCoy added to Amanda, snagging a glass for himself.

"I'm glad. I'll be able to tell your Grandmother you have some color in your cheeks today."

Spock looked up, startled at that. "T'Pau knows that I am here?"

McCoy glanced at Kirk with a raised brow, as if to underscore the relationship for him.

"Of course," Amanda said, offering Kirk a glass. "She's asked after you nearly every day since you've been home. She's panting at the bit to see you, when you're well enough. Though of course she doesn't **say** that. She would even come here, but she doesn't want to intrude before you are well. "

"I was somewhat impolite when last I saw her," Spock said gravely. "I must beg her pardon."

Amanda ignored this reference to his aborted Pon Far. "You can call her if you don't want to put that off until you can wait on her. Or I can let you know when I speak with her next, and you can talk to her then."

"No," Spock shook his head. "I have done that via subspace. I must do this in person." He looked at his mother. "She is well?"

"Well," Amanda arranged the things on the tray in displaced worry, "She is getting a little frail. She rarely goes out much now."

"I am grieved to hear it."

She looked up, smiling resolutely. "It's nothing that affects her ability to rule with an iron fist."

Spock nodded. "I will be very pleased to see her."

Amanda bit her lips. "Perhaps you'll soon be up for a very quiet family dinner at the Palace? She's requested that. More than once. Not to put a human motivation on your Very Vulcan grandmother, but I think she has her heart set on that."

Spock met his mother's eyes, as if he had just realized something. "With Sarek."

"With your father, of course." Amanda said evenly, as if there was nothing of import in that.

Spock lowered his head, thinking that over a moment. Kirk and McCoy realized this was probably the first "family dinner" with Sarek post Babel, when Sarek had come to recognize his son again. "Yes. That would be welcome."

"The Captain and Dr. McCoy are invited too, of course," Amanda said.

"We wouldn't want to intrude," McCoy said.

"Nonsense," Amanda said. "T'Pau has the highest regard for you both. She specifically requested you attend, which for her is code that **you** are family to her, after all you've done for us. And if you have any other polite demurs, let me advise you that when you are in **this** family, gentlemen, you soon realize you don't say no to T'Pau."

Spock cut his eyes to his mother at that.

"I'll look forward to it," McCoy said, and Kirk nodded his acquiescence.

"But of course," she continued, as if regretfully, "Though T'Pau has a very good cook, she doesn't compare to T'Rueth." Amanda's eyes sparkled at her fellow humans. "You'll have to deal with **Vulcan** cuisine."

"I'll prepare my stomach with universal antidote," McCoy said dryly.

Amanda looked over at Kirk. "I hope you are recovered from your adventures, Captain? Next time you must warn me, when you take out Spock's flyer," she said mischievously. "So I can pack up the dishes."

Kirk's face flamed, remembering the sonic boom. "I didn't -?"

"I never liked that china pattern anyway," Amanda dismissed. "And it was quite **exciting**, for a minute or two there. There hasn't been quite so much destruction at this old Fortress since the last Pre-Reform Wars. But at least you didn't take out the garden wall. Or Sarek's craft. Even he would have been a bit miffed at that."

Spock was looking from Kirk to his mother curiously.

"You didn't, Jim!" McCoy said, laughing.

""It took me a minute to get the hang of the controls," Kirk said, with injured dignity. "I've never learned Vulcan script."

"I remember a car of Bella Oxmyx," Spock said, the ghost of a curve teasing the corner of his mouth.

"I **loved** that car," Kirk said. "And I drove it **well**. Eventually," he conceded.

"In first gear," Spock said.

Amanda laughed. "That was the gangster world, right? I remember Spock relating something of that." She tilted her head, "But **nothing** about your driving, Captain. Your secret was safe with him. Until yesterday, that is."

McCoy looked at the half curve in the corner of Spock's mouth, and the lack of tension in his shoulders, and gave Kirk a significant look, urging him to continue. "Did you tell her about the Shore Leave planet?" he asked Spock. "After all Amanda's reading these last few days, I think it was **you** that should have been seeing the _Alice in Wonderland_ characters and not me."

"Did you really see them?" Amanda asked, intrigued.

"The White Rabbit and Alice herself."

"What did you see, Captain, if I may ask?" Amanda said.

Kirk rubbed his jaw in memory. "An upperclassman named Finnegan. With a wicked left hook." He smiled slowly. "But I finally settled **that** score."

"Indeed, Captain," Spock commented, still with that trace of smile.

"Did you tell her about Trelayne, the spoiled child of Gothos?" McCoy asked Spock. Kirk and McCoy kept the conversation going with cheerful reminiscences and anecdotes while the most relaxed Spock they had yet seen ate with more appetite than he had formerly displayed, while his companions watched approvingly.

But with his meal over, McCoy had another less pleasant agenda. "If you're done with breakfast, Spock," McCoy said, "And if you two will excuse us," he nodded at Amanda and Kirk, "Spock and I have an appointment."

Spock's eyes shadowed, and he looked away.

"Bones," Kirk said, seeing Spock loose his shadow smile. "Must you- Just when-"

"Jim," McCoy said, raising his brows significantly.

"Perhaps you could help me with this tray, Captain." Amanda said. After a moment, Kirk relented and followed her out.

McCoy led the way out to the rooftop gardens, and set down his glass of water. "Pretty view," he said, conversationally to Spock. "Would never think to say that of a view of Vulcan, but it is."

Spock sat down restively, eyes not meeting McCoy.

"Let's go back to what we were talking about," McCoy said easily. "Or what you were **not** talking about." When Spock didn't respond, McCoy sat back easily. "Come on, Spock. You know the drill. Tell me what happened."

Spock just shook his head, slowly, human style. Not in refusal, so much as disengagement. As if he wasn't there.

"You know where you are now, surely. That you're safe. And home. You don't need to be afraid that this is some mindsifter illusion."

The Vulcan cut his eyes to McCoy at that, but still didn't answer.

"You don't need to be ashamed either. The events that resulted in your capture were not your fault. And you gave the Klingons nothing. You didn't break. Starfleet cleared you on that score. Exonerated you. Now you just have to clear **yourself**, Spock. In your own mind. And let it go."

Spock rose suddenly and went to the parapet railings, hands clutching the sandstone barriers so hard little grains of sand crumbled under his grip.

"Careful," McCoy said. "You're breaking five thousand years of tradition."

Spock looked over at him, then followed McCoy's glance down to his own hands. "It would not be the first time," he said darkly.

"Well, that's something," McCoy said. "More than you've given up before. That's good. Just keep going."

Spock just shook his head, staring out at the distant Llangons. "I can't."

McCoy sighed. Waited a few moments. "I can arrange for another therapist if it's too difficult with me. I know we've had a somewhat contentious relationship. To put it mildly."

"No," Spock said, not turning to him. As if talking to the distant view.

But McCoy took heart he was at least talking. "You've got to go through this with someone, Spock. Starfleet isn't going to put you back conning the bridge of a Starship, facing these sort of scenarios again, until you can face this **past** one. And talk about it." He waited. "Unless you **don't** want that."

"Perhaps..." Spock's voice trailed off.

"Yes?" McCoy asked hopefully.

"I'm not suited."

"Now why would you say that?" McCoy asked, leaning back. "For eighteen years - fully half your life - you were very **well** suited to the position. Trained for it. Mastered it. You're the best First Officer in the Fleet. You know that. If you had ever pushed for it, you could have had a command of your own. You can still."

"Command," Spock said softly, shuddering at that. "I've **never** wanted Command."

"And that's one reason why you work so well with Jim. He wants it so badly, he's a hair threatened by a too ambitious First. Mitchell, for example. Because Jim knows there's never a threat from **you** on that score frees him, I think, to do his best work. As a command team, you've been **ideally** suited to each other. Even Starfleet agrees on that." McCoy eyed him. "Why do you think that isn't so now?"

Spock closed his eyes . His fingers went to his temples, as if to shut something out. Or hold back pain.

"You're thinking of the mindsifter."

"No, Doctor. I...won't...go...there." He'd lowered his hands, now rubbing his wrists, as if soothing the scars from the restraints .

"Spock-"

"No!" Spock rounded on him, cat-like, moving, mobile, free. A Vulcan predator on the loose.

McCoy sat back, holding up a placating hand. "All right. Take a breath. We'll take a break."

Spock collapsed in a chair. "I... can't!" His voice was hushed. Broken.

"All right. You can't. Just breathe. Take it easy. In. Out. You're all right. You're safe now, remember. Home. No one is going to make you do anything here. Only what you can manage, what you're willing to do. That's all we're asking of you."

"Untrue. You **have** met my father." Spock muttered, head in his hands, fingers back to his temples again.

McCoy half smiled. "He's not pushing you, is he?"

"Only every day of my life."

"We can look at your recovery from that side too," McCoy said equably. "You don't have to con the bridge of a Starship. You don't have to live here. You could teach at Starfleet if you prefer. Though I think there's obviously a place on Vulcan for you, regardless of your relationship with Sarek. You could teach at the Science Academy. Do research. Or politics if that's what you're into now. And while you and your father have **had** something of a history, you've reconciled, right? He's not pushing you now, is he? He loves you."

Spock looked up at McCoy at that. "He's Vulcan."

"Well, I may just be an old country doctor," McCoy said. "But I've been watching him and listening to him since we arrived. **I** think he loves you. Course he's going about it in the usual pig-headedly Vulcan way."

"I want to stop now." Spock said, closing his eyes. He shuddered, and put his fingers back to his temples.

"Deep breath. In. Out." McCoy waited for a moment. "How bad is it now?"

"Stop now."

McCoy sighed. "All right. " He rose, and put a hand on Spock's arm, ignoring his flinch at the contact. "You did all right Spock. Much better than the last session. You talked at least a little. These things take time. Try and get some rest. Yes? Then later this afternoon, maybe you'll be up to taking a walk in the gardens."

Spock nodded, shoulders slumped, broken.

"We'll talk again tomorrow. All right?" He looked for another nod, some willingness Spock would agree to move forward. In vain. After a moment, McCoy let himself out of the suite and walked heavily down the stairs. And into three expectant, questioning, eager glances. Sarek, Amanda and Jim were still at breakfast. They might even have been delaying their departures for Council and Academy, waiting for him.

McCoy hated to disappoint such expectant hope, but let out a breath of his own, and just shook his head fractionally.

"Bones!" Kirk said exasperated.

McCoy moved to shut the door behind him, though Spock was unlikely to hear anything.

"He's not ready yet. Jim, this could take months. The worst thing I can do is push him past his ability to deal with this. That's the worst thing any of us can do. He's been traumatized enough. By experts. Do you want me to join them?" McCoy looked heavily around the table. "Space. Time. Patience and understanding. That's what he needs from us. I have a lot of faith in Spock. I think he will get through this." He looked at Jim. "But it may not be on your or Starfleet's timetable, Jim."

"I won't accept that," Kirk said.

"How long will they give him, Doctor?" Amanda asked glancing worriedly at Kirk.

"By the end of this leave, he's going to have to show progress. If not," McCoy sketched a negative. "Spock's not just First Officer but Science Officer. He holds positions that two personnel normally cover. That's already unheard of, and only Spock could pull that off. The Enterprise might be able to shift without **one** for a few months, but never without both. Starfleet will have to assign replacements for both positions if he's not ready to return at the end of this leave."

Jim rose from the table and stormed out the garden door.

"It could be a rough two weeks," McCoy said, his gaze sadly following his Captain.

"What can be done?" Sarek asked.

"I offered Spock the option of another therapist. He refused. I don't think he'd get along better with anyone else anyway. Of course, if he doesn't return with us at the end of this leave, someone from the nearest StarBase will take over with him. If he stays here." McCoy shook his head. "Let's not go that far. It's early for those decisions. He may have a breakthrough tomorrow, or the next day. His physical recovery could be considered more or less on course. As he progresses there, that will have an impact on the psychological. That he's alive and **sane**, and able to talk after those mindsifter sessions shows an amazing strength of mind and resiliency. We have to be grateful for what gains he's made. And let him come back at his own pace. I know Jim is anxious and impatient - he wants so much to put all this behind them, for Spock as much as himself. But I can't put Spock a life away from command of a Starship in his present condition. If he can't reconcile the past, he can't face the same dangers in the future."

Amanda scrubbed at her eyes. Then she put her face into her hands and wiped both cheeks. "Tell me why I should **want** my son to face them?"

McCoy sighed. "I know. It's hard to ask of any parent. But there are good reasons. Because it's been his home for the past fourteen years. Because that was the life he chose. He has friends there. He likes it there. He was well loved by his fellow officers and crew. He's brilliant at it, and he's needed there. Jim needs him, or thinks he does. Because he behaved with exemplary courage in horrible conditions, with very little hope. At the very least, Spock deserves all our efforts for the fullest recovery he can make. Wherever that takes him."

"Even if it means he risks going back into that same situation?" Amanda said.

"Even then," McCoy confirmed somberly. "That's what this is all about. To make sure, if he's conning that ship, that he's ready to walk right back into that same situation. That's what we ask of Command personnel."

Amanda shook her head at that, and she rose and left the room. They heard her retreating steps on the stairs.

"It may be up to you and I, Sarek," McCoy said, half ironically.

Sarek raised a brow at that. "I've always strongly opposed Spock's presence in Starfleet."

"I know. But now he needs you to be strong **for** him. This isn't about just whether he can return to Starfleet. This is about whether he recovers fully, to live his life however he chooses. We all have to be there for Spock, whatever our personal inclinations, so he gets the option to make his own choice. I don't want to deny that to him. I'm sure, however you feel about Starfleet, that you don't either. Not at heart."

Sarek shook his head unwillingly, human style, at that ultimate irony. "_Children_," he said.

McCoy nodded, recognizing from years of exposure to Spock, the trace of exasperation in Sarek's Vulcan countenance. "Payback **can** be a bitch."

Sarek didn't pretend to misunderstand the colloquialism.

_To be continued..._


	20. Chapter 20

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 20**

Kirk had suffered from a sense of unwelcome foreboding from the moment he'd gotten word of Sarek's invitation for Spock to spend his convalescence on Vulcan. He'd had time to ponder the mystery of the unusual dockyard modifications the Enterprise was undergoing. But no time yet, to figure it out. The company logos he hadn't yet quite pinned down. The nature of the mysterious parent company. The relationships between them, Spock and his family.

He could ask Spock, of course. But he was reluctant to put any questions to Spock in his present condition. Nor did he want to ask Sarek or Amanda. He'd deal with this himself.

He'd thought about heading over to the Federation Central building and doing a little research on Shikahr Enterprises. Starfleet had an office there, but with Vulcan Space Central controlling the quadrant, there was no larger Starbase closer than Rigel, and no heavy Starfleet presence here. He figured he had a few hours before lunch while Spock was resting, to take his flyer and check it out.

But when he went out to the hanger, Spock's little flyer didn't respond to the ignition controls. For a moment he wondered if this was some subtle remark on his competence, from Amanda or Sarek. But then he remembered the tagalong program Sarek had set on it. When they'd returned from the Forge the other day, they'd entered the house directly from Sarek's craft. Neither one had spared any thought to reset the flyer. With Sarek's craft shut down, the little flyer was also dead.

Since Sarek's craft was still in the hanger, he must be still in the house. Kirk went to look for him, but came across Amanda first, on her way out the door dressed in her Academy clothes, briefcase in hand.

"Yes, Captain?" Amanda said, pausing at his look of inquiry.

"I was looking for Sarek. Do you know where he is?"

"If his flyer's still in the hanger, he's probably in his office. Two corridors over and-" Amanda paused, making a face. "Oh, I'll just take you. One can get lost for days in this pile of stone."

"I **can** follow directions," Kirk said.

"Really," Amanda asked, mildly amused at that. "Even if you are better at that than I've otherwise sometimes heard, I'm not terribly good at giving them."

They were at their destination before Kirk could think of a suitable rejoinder. One thing he was sure of, Amanda might have some appreciation for him. But she wasn't overawed by him. He wondered a little what Spock **had** said of him in his messages home, but he'd likely never find out. Amanda pointed out Sarek's doorway once they were close enough, then excused herself and left.

Sarek's office was in the estate rather than the family wing. He was in conversation with another Vulcan, who excused himself when Kirk came to the door.

Kirk explained his problem. Sarek paused and closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw setting, as if exasperated with himself. "Forgive me, Captain. I was entirely remiss in overlooking that detail."

"You had other things on your mind."

Sarek shook his head, Vulcan style, forgoing that excuse. "I'm on my way out, Captain. I can reset it now."

Their longer strides soon caught them up with Amanda, who watched thoughtfully as Sarek disabled the little flyer's tagalong program, sizing anew the small craft against Kirk and her husband. She leaned across her own vehicle, addressing Sarek. "You know, I keep thinking of that flyer as it was in respect to Spock when he first got it. But I suspect it's not really comfortable for even one grown adult now. And if Spock wants to show Jim Vulcan in it, it will be totally unsuitable. We should really replace it before then, so he has one when he's ready for that."

"It should be functional now, Captain." Sarek said, taking his head out of the craft. He looked across at his wife. "You don't think Spock should choose a craft for himself?"

Amanda snorted at that. "If he **would**. But you know he will never think to do it. He just kept tinkering on this one, whenever it needed repairs. He's like me when it comes to these things. He doesn't care. You should just choose something, rather than wait for him to do it. Something you'd find suitable. Sans the warp sled option. I don't think he needs **that.**

"I'm not sure I concur with your latter assessment." Sarek countered. "Conferences. Seminars, lectures, academic or otherwise. These would naturally take him offworld at times."

"Maybe," Amanda said, not looking sanguine at that prospect. "If you think so, then that too. But sled or not, that flyer is just too small. I mean, really, Sarek, he's not **twelve** anymore."

Sarek looked back at the little flyer critically. "Very well."

"Maybe Tashir and Sion have something new coming out they'd like to have a few Fleet officers' opinions on?" Amanda suggested.

Sarek gave his wife a dry look. "I hardly think so."

Amanda laughed at his tone. "Well, maybe they have something they'd like to have **Spock's** opinion on?"

"That neither. As you say he has never been interested enough in conveyances to even to replace this outmoded vehicle."

"Well, then," Amanda said.

Sarek gave a Vulcan shrug. "I will have them send something current off the lines. Of course, if he then makes the same stubborn fuss his mother always does, as I fully expect he will, we will simply send it back."

"There's nothing wrong with **my** flyer," Amanda said, and tossed her briefcase in the co-pilot's seat before getting in. "And don't you dare have them send anything for me. It's not like I've outgrown this one as Spock has outgrown that." She nodded to Kirk, gave Sarek a quirky two fingered wave, perhaps the Vulcan equivalent of a human blowing a kiss, and engaged her engines.

"Don't do it on my account, Sarek," Kirk said, watching her fly off, sans sonic boom. He was thinking if he had his choice, Spock would never need to use it, being gone in two weeks.

Sarek glanced at him. "I'm not," he said. Not in insult, but matter-of-fact, as a Vulcan would. "His mother's suggestion is a logical one. If you'll excuse me, Captain, I'm already behind scheduling. My aides will be most displeased."

"Sir," Kirk said. It wasn't until Sarek flew off himself that he realized he had missed a prime chance. He'd been so uncomfortable with the notion of Spock's parents' casual gift, so reluctant at the idea of it, even though neither parent was regarding it as anything like a bribe, and it was the last sort of thing Spock would consider or want anyway, or that would sway him regardless if bribes were in the offing, that he'd missed the chance to suggest he make the choice **himself**. And perhaps in doing so, get a clearer view of this dockyard picture. A craft that had a warp sled option probably came off the same yards, or some place related to it. Well, there might still be time for that.

He took off more skillfully this time. No sonic boom to wake Spock.

In the Federation building, his arrival caused a little flurry, a rushing of personnel, a clumsy clearly unexpected and unprofessional honor guard lineup, until he stepped out of the flyer. Then his presence just seemed to cause confusion. Kirk was used to his uniform being cause for a little disruption. Starship Captains were a rare and somewhat venerated minority. But the reception he got didn't seem to be for that.

"What are you doing flying around in a craft with **that** transmitter code," one of the security guards asked disgruntledly, looking at the little flyer as if he expected someone else might be coming out of it.

Kirk turned back to look at Spock's flyer. "What sort of code?"

"**That** family," the guard said.

"I'm looking for the Terran Legate," Kirk said. "Or the Starfleet liaison."

"The legate's tied up no doubt. But the liaison probably twiddling his thumbs. On **this** planet, anyway. Lt. Commander Brock. Second floor, third door to the left."

He got the vaunted reception there that the security detail failed to give him. Brock braced to attention, thrusting out his chest like a first year cadet. "Captain Kirk!"

"At ease, Commander." The rank designation, **Spock's** rank, felt bittersweet coming off his tongue.

"How can I help you, Sir?"

"I'm looking for some information," Kirk said slowly. "My _Enterprise_ is in space dock, being refitted. I'd like to know a little more about who's refitting her. Beyond Starfleet authorizations. The Vulcans behind the company." Kirk put printouts of the two logos on the desk.

Brock looked at them. "I'm afraid I don't know much about that, sir. Starfleet doesn't have much of a presence here, as I'm sure you know. Vulcan controls most of this quadrant, and Vulcan Space Central controls the space docks, the orbiting space stations, the planetary approaches. They do business with 'Fleet, of course. We have contracts for work with the necessary yards, when needed, same as for any liner or cargo ship that needs repairs or refitting. I've never heard they do anything more than exemplary work. But I don't know much beyond that. There's no Starbase presence orbiting Vulcan. I'm pretty much it for Fleet representation, and I'm mostly here to do recruiting. And, well, **you** know, Sir, that Vulcans don't join Fleet in droves. This is pretty much considered a backwater post from that perspective. This little office is all the Fleet presence there is here." He gestured at the one room surrounding them. "Not much use for dockyard info **here**."

"Who would know?"

Brock drew a breath, considering. "The Federation Legate's Counsel, I guess. For a start, anyway. They do the legal work for the diplomatic staff here, at least what doesn't get farmed out to Terra and higher ups. Basic contracts, like repair work on disabled Fleet craft, would probably be done locally. They'd know the personnel, know who to put you in touch with on the Vulcan side, if you wanted to talk to their corporate offices. Such as they might be."

"As they might be?"

"These people, they don't really **have** corporations. Not like what we think of, anyway. It's all clan holdings, family businesses." Brock shook his head. "There's no corporate office if you wanted to get an address, some place to walk in on with a logo on the building's door and a hierarchy chart at the main desk with a receptionist: president and so on. Unless you are family, you don't get too far an in to wherever those corporate officers are. Not too many answers to questions. They're private people. Of course, if you were family, then I guess you wouldn't need to have questions. You'd know. And they wouldn't need to give answers. So what you want just doesn't exist. No so I'd know, anyway." He handed the sheets back. "Good luck, sir."

The Counsel, Norris Martin, made Kirk cool his heels for the briefest wait necessary only to boot his current appointment out, received the Captain's request with even less optimism.

"Aren't they taking care of the _Enterprise_ satisfactorily, Captain?" he asked, glancing with more than a little dislike at the prospect of what Kirk's papers might represent. "I confess, we've never had a complaint before. Vulcan efficiency, you know."

"That's not it. I just want some background."

"Why?"

"That's **my** business," Kirk said.

Martin looked doubtful at that. "Shikahr Enterprises is an overall conglomerate that encompasses dozens, if not hundreds of entities. Some small, some massive. It would take weeks, years, decades maybe, for a forensic accountant to trace the relationships out. And that's if we could ever get the books, and we have no right to them. By their own treaties, Vulcan pays all its Federation taxes not by taxing individual citizens' income, but out of clan holding accounts. They raise the money for them in the oddest, most ridiculous ways. Tourist fees, tariffs, even public benefit events that are practically the equivalent of planet-wide bake sales. It's bizarre accounting. I'm not sure what I can tell you."

"What about this?" Kirk tapped the logo of the unpronounceably named parent company.

Martin shook his head. "Well, that's T'Pau's clan logo. The ranking one on Vulcan. By Federation standards I suppose you could call that parent company the legal arm of the clan, and an overall holding company for Shikahr Enterprises. But only because we have to call the ownership of it **something** and it's the closest Terran equivalent. It's not a public company. More like a family. The ownership's very closely held."

"Who holds it?"

Martin pushed the printout away from him. "No one knows. It's private. But whom do you think? T'Pau. Sarek, no doubt. That's just a guess. If you tried to pry into it, you'd probably find some corporate officers materialize, who'd flood you with a bird's nest of hierarchy charts. Maybe Sarek would or wouldn't be at the top of them, depending on their mood or what they think you're entitled to know. But that's not the point. He's the political leader of the clan . The real power. T'Pau is the nominal head, but she rarely gets too involved in day to day governing. Sarek heads the Council. And the Council - the convening of all the clan heads - runs Vulcan. Those clan heads own everything, so far as we can tell. Or hold it all in trust. They parcel it all out, based on family relationships and probably some salary or business related income for everyone running or working in all those private enterprises. For all their sophistication in sciences, **and** politics though we Terrans don't like to admit it, their society is essentially a feudal, backward one culturally."

"Backward?" Kirk asked mildly.

Martin shrugged. "I think so. Like every year they have a ceremony where the whole passel of these clan leaders all parade around with ancient weapons, as if they were going to engage in a war with pikes and staves. Then lay them down with a big fanfare about keeping the peace of logic. It's a joke. Broadcast all over the Vulcan side of the airwaves, for those that can't attend in person. Beamed to all their colonies. The whole lot of them shut down everything for it, commerce, traffic, everything. Meanwhile, they still fight to the death over women. Oh, they hush it up, but it's no secret. If you live here long enough, you hear things. You ought to know some of this. Your First Officer is part of it all."

"I'm only beginning to understand," Kirk said.

"I'm not saying they're not decent allies, for aliens, that is. Better than the Tellurites or the Andorians anyway. They've kicked the Roms behind that Neutral Zone more than once. And the Roms are scared to death of them - they never encroach on the Vulcan side of that Zone, as you well know. The Roms save their skirmishes for the Starfleet patrolled side of the quadrant. Their defensive tech is top rate, and they do share a good bit of it with us. Though not all - I can't say they trust us much for all Sarek married that Terran. Not that she's on **our** side. Be careful of her, she's not what she looks like. She sides with that husband of hers. And it's no secret Sarek himself **hates** Starfleet. We can barely keep a liaison office here, and no more than a Lt. Commander. And no real recruiting. It's strangled down to nothing. Especially since that kid of his joined Fleet. Everyone here knows he would have dragged him out of it, except that someone - T'Pau most likely - stayed his hand. She probably expected to get something - inside information, whatever - out of that."

"That **kid**, as you call him, is my First Officer," Kirk said. His Irish temper, never well under control since Spock's capture, was beginning to flare.

Martin handed the paper back. "They're not **really** on our side, Captain," he said, casually confidential. "They side with the 'dors or the Tells, as often as not. Bunch of -" he landed on the floor from Kirk's sudden roundhouse punch before he could even finish his pejorative.

Kirk shook himself back from the red rage that had briefly enshrouded him. All he could think of was Spock, beaten, broken, as he'd been when he'd carried him out of that Klingon base, unable even to walk, to speak. But of course this fool would never know of it. So much of their missions were classified. "I'm sorry. But you have no idea what you're saying. And you don't talk about my First Officer that way **ever**."

Martin picked himself off the floor, rubbing his jaw. Straightening his tunic. "I suppose I can't expect Fleet types to be diplomats, can I?" he sneered. "All you know is _phasers on_, right?"

"Don't tempt me," Kirk warned, clenching his fists. "I'm an officer. But not always a gentleman."

"You **asked**. You said you wanted to know whom you were dealing with, Captain. Don't blame **me** if you don't like the answers."

_to be continued... _


	21. Chapter 21

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 21**

When Kirk flew back to the old Fortress, he had to circle the hanger area, because it was crowded with half a dozen or more little craft, though the hanger was empty except for the Terran vehicle he'd long ago eschewed.

Sarek and Amanda weren't home then. Hard to say about McCoy, since he adamantly refused to fly himself anywhere in Vulcan traffic, even in a Federation manufactured vehicle, saying on this planet everyone drove by the seat of their pants like a bunch of wild daredevil cadets instead of via super-controlled traffic guidance. He was having his colleagues pick him up and take him around on his busman's holiday.

Kirk parked Spock's flyer in its usual place, pleased that he had no trouble setting the little vehicle precisely where he intended, and went to puzzle out the other vehicles. He wasn't alarmed that Spock had some sort of setback, because these vehicles lacked the Academy of Medicine's emblazons. Though they did have more personality than any Vulcan vehicles he'd yet seen. One was painted all over in the guise of a lematya. Some were striped. One had a fancy geometric pattern. Most were normal sized, though a couple were almost as small as Spock's flyer. None had warp sleds, but they were all nice craft.

When he went approached the gate, the guards nodded to him, in the first sign of unbending they'd given him. "They're meeting in the garden, sir," one muttered, with a trace of insider confidence that seemed to indicate somehow, with all these new visitors, he'd now risen in their estimation in comparison, a resident compared to invading strangers.

"Thanks. Who are they?" Kirk asked.

"Councilors. Scientists. Just kids." the guard said. "No one to be concerned about." Though his voice was so soft Kirk had to strain to hear it, Kirk didn't miss the trace of mild disdain. It came to him that their disregard of McCoy and their different attitude toward him was somehow related. He, Spock, Sarek were _warriors_ to them, and they showed it. McCoy, Amanda, and these unknown visitors were not anything a guard had to be concerned with.

Slightly appeased by that estimation, Kirk followed the voices, though they were speaking Vulcan, and he couldn't discern the gist of the conversation.

He went through the Vulcan part of the gardens to no avail. To his surprise the voices were coming from Amanda's gardens. He pushed through the shimmer of force screen, that kept humidity and the slightly higher pressure of Earth normal conditions in, and ducked under the trailing ribbons of roses and vines that showered down petals. The voices were farther on, deeper still in the gardens. But he had spent long hours here, waiting out Spock's convalescence. He unerringly followed the winding paths through the rose maze. He came around the last turn, to the center, where a terrace with benches, tables and statuary created a pleasant verdant room, and found a small group of young Vulcans, all in that interim period between eighteen and sixty that put them firmly in the adolescent stage between child and adulthood. It took him a few seconds to pick Spock out of the group. He hadn't worn Starfleet uniform since his arrival, and in Vulcan clothes, his hair cut in a longer, non-Starfleet style, without the sharp sideburn points that Starfleet favored, he was almost, **almost** just one more of a group of dark haired, casually dressed, young Vulcans. But then Spock detached himself from a knot. "Captain."

"Look at you, down here all by yourself," Kirk said, with unfeigned pleasure, if a little jeaous that Spock hadn't waited for him. Then realized how odd that sounded, since Spock was definitely not by himself. But he meant Spock had made it down presumably under his own power. No parents, no healers, no Kirk or McCoy. Fortunately Vulcans were used to remarks that suffered in translation. None of them so much as blinked.

"Captain Kirk. An honor to meet you again, Sir," another Vulcan said. Kirk recognized Sanjean. Introductions followed, but Kirk rapidly lost track of names and the clan affiliations that were rattled off. Two or three were dressed in the dark slacks and clan shields that Sarek had sported on the _Enterprise_, apparently fresh from Council. Several were dressed in desert sand suits, of a tan perfect to camouflage their presence in the wild foothills that rose outside the garden gates. A couple were dressed in casual Vulcan clothes of the type Kirk had seen on Shikahr's streets. There were two girls in the group. They had desert clothes on also, their hair pulled back in pony tails rather than the elaborate hairstyles Kirk had noted on most Vulcan women in Shikahr. The desert clad group were all a bit travel stained and sandy, and there were a few small knapsacks on the ground next to their feet. Trays of refreshments had been set out, pitchers of drinks and snacks, but almost all the young Vulcans, particularly the desert hikers, were ignoring the food in favor of snacking on roses, their hands full of buds or petals, with glasses of lemonade in their other hand. The scent of roses hung heavy in the air.

All of the Vulcans were obviously curious about Kirk, some of them looking from him to Spock with a sort of wonder, but none of them seemed to have the negative attitude toward "outworlders" that Kirk had sensed in some Vulcans - Sarek included at times. Perhaps the prejudice Kirk had sometimes encountered was partly a generational difference. They obviously had no prejudice against Terran roses. They'd been stripping all the nearby buds with an appetite that Kirk had almost never seen in Spock. Even the girls were browsing, in between conversation. Maybe McCoy was right, for he'd sometimes speculated that Spock's dual heritage adversely affected his digestion or appetite, resulting in Spock's picky eating habits and skinny frame. Or perhaps in this case, Spock was just over-used to having the Vulcan equivalent of a candy store at his doorstep, because he was the only Vulcan present who didn't have a handful of buds. And the only one not eating.

Conversation suffered upon Kirk's arrival. A few of Spock's guests didn't speak Federation Standard fluently. Several of them were clearly unpracticed at it. Those that did tried their best to translate, but communication soon bogged down. Some of them had questions about Starfleet, that Spock answered in his own language, translating back for Kirk. They steered clear from questions about Spock's mission, no doubt because even his longer haircut couldn't entirely hide the mindsifter burns on his temples, or the ugly scars on his wrists.

Most of them seemed quite happy to rest and eat in the rose garden after what looked like a strenuous morning hike. Kirk gathered from snatches of conversation that that sandsuited group, naturalists by profession, had come down from higher in the foothills, where they'd apparently been doing some sort of wildlife survey in conjunction with the Science Academy and other conservation organizations, when Sanjean and his Council colleagues had arrived. They had followed Sanjean into the Fortress with the apparent hopeful prospect of freeloading lunch after a hard morning's fieldwork.

Spock was curious about the wildlife survey, and they were telling him about it, in slow stages, pausing for Spock to relay their comments to Kirk. No one had a universal translator handy. Spock did his best to translate for Kirk, but it was uphill going. The creatures they'd been studying only had Vulcan names, the times and dates of the study were all in Vulcan, and the institutions who'd requested the study were Vulcan too. Spock was getting a little breathless repeating everything, especially since most of it was untranslatable. Kirk finally held up a hand. "Belay that, Spock. I'm just going to get some lemonade."

He walked off to the set out refreshments, where Sanjean's group was back for refills. They had less problems with Federation Standard.

"You are from Earth, Captain?" A lankily tall Vulcan called Silanjar asked him in nearly unaccented English. "A Terran human?"

Kirk nodded pleasantly, pouring himself a drink, and wishing T'Rueth had included ice as she generally did in the house. For this group of solely Vulcans, she'd omitted it. The lemonade was very warm and sourer than he liked. "Iowa."

That clearly meant nothing to Silanjar. "You are, perhaps, from Lady Amanda's clan?"

"Humans don't generally have clans. Some do, from some countries on Earth - Scots for instance. But most don't."

"How...isolating." Silanjar commented thoughtfully.

"What does your clan motto stand for?" Kirk asked, not entirely with idle purpose, eying the embroidered clan shield. "I know Spock's is the lematya."

"A forge. Not Vulcan's Forge, the desert range, but a smelting forge. My people come from the far side of the Llangons, Captain. We were metal workers primarily, delving in the depths of the planet's core. Spock's ancestors," he said, nodding at him, "had the truly uncivilized habit of crossing their mountains, invading our borders, attacking us, and making off with all our hard-mined efforts. We on the other hand, occasionally grew bold enough to cross their ranges, and try to take their land and water rights as well as our stolen goods back. I regret to report they were far more successful in their nefarious exploits than we were in ours. They often pillaged us. We never **quite** managed to take ShiKahr from them. " His eyes grew pleasantly reflective. "Although there were some **fabulous** battles." His gaze returned to Kirk. "Perhaps I should not say **regret**, because if lack of conquest could be considered a virtue, my clan was by **far** the more virtuous compared to Spock's."

Almost against his will, Kirk had to laugh at this.

"When Surak first proposed to unite all the clans in peace," Silanjar continued, "my ancestors immediately saw the advantage of joining them, compared to them regularly routing our goods. They signed on post-haste. Paid them a healthy tribute for the privilege too. We've made a virtue of being the first treaty signer, the first ally to Surak. Though I suspect it was originally more a result of lack of where-with-all on the battlefield in facing Surak's former armies, and far less of true interest in peace. "

"I think more than one clan would have to confess to that," Sanjean said, rife with Vulcan amusement. "My people were nothing more than farmers, Captain. My clan spent a good portion of the Pre-Reforms fighting in various insurrections trying to keep from being enslaved by Surak's armies. And too often failing. It was a bitter time, so we had no hesitation signing the peace either. Our lands are the far plains beyond the Sirakvui Spaceport."

"You paid them a tribute?" Kirk asked.

"Oh, Surak returned much of the tributes. Eventually. Once he'd managed to conquer - ah, sign on - all his former enemies and had all the clans firmly in hand, he didn't need his war chest so much. Quite clever of him," Silanjar said. "When he realized he couldn't conquer all the lands of Vulcan in war, he just conquered them all with peace.

"It sounds better in the history books," Sanjean commented, "than the way you tell it, Silanjar."

"Naturally I am a Vulcan, bred to peace, and revere Surak for his uniting of the clans," Silanjar said, a trifle ironically, "But after a long day in Council, sometimes the prospect of fighting the old way with a lirpa, rather than interminable words, seems so much **cleaner**."

"What will Captain Kirk think?" Sanjean remarked.

"Probably that we are no better than we are," Silanjar returned.

"I think I understand, Silanjar," Kirk said.

"I'm not surprised at all that Spock went into Starfleet," Silanjar remarked, refreshing his glass, and now eyeing Spock over by the naturalists with mild, uncomplicated interest. "It was a logical choice. On land or in space, that clan are all cut-throat pirates at heart."

Kirk choked at that, but let it go, finding it more of an oblique compliment than an insult. He regarded himself as something of a pirate at times. "Is your clan still into metalworking?"

"Indeed we are. Though Vulcan is a bit metal poor now. We run mines and refineries from here to Rigel. and ship the refined goods all over the Federation, though mostly our clients are from the old Vulcan Alliance of planets and colonies."

"And do you make metal goods - such as ships?" Kirk asked casually.

"No, we've never been shipwrights. For that you'd have to go to-" Silanjar suddenly rose to his feet, an arrested expression on his face. Around him, all the other Vulcans rose, or straightened as well, rosebuds set aside or concealed in hands, glasses being set down, faces setting from even marginal Vulcan expressions to studied expressionlessness. For all the world like children having been caught in mischief.

Kirk turned to see Sarek coming toward them across the gardens.

"Respect, Leader," Sanjean said with studied tonelessness, and Silanjar and the other Vulcans echoed him, glancing at each other, some shifting their feet, clearly none of the young Vulcans entirely comfortable under Sarek's eagle-eyed scrutiny.

Sarek's gaze passed over Kirk, and regarded the rest with faint disapproval, if not actual disparagement, and settled on Spock. Spock had raised his head to regard his father, but he, of all the Vulcans there, hadn't risen from his seat. Kirk thought it was probably because he was choosing not to risk a flat out faint. He looked pale, and though he seemed more curious and surprised at his contemporaries' reaction, rather than stressed, still there were shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there half an hour ago. If he hadn't risen for Sarek's arrival as the others had, it was more because he was clearly conserving his strength, unwilling to nose dive into the dirt.

"You look awful, Spock," Kirk said unguardedly, not thinking about how it sounded.

"Somewhat fatigued," Sarek amended with a reproving glance for Kirk. "But I quite concur."

The group of wildlife experts were already making motions and comments that they were overdue at their headquarters, and collecting their things. The one with the least marginal English inviting Spock to join them on their next field trip, including Kirk in the invitation if he felt acclimated enough. They trooped past Sarek with lowered heads and surreptitious glances at Kirk, and in spite of himself, Kirk had to smile. "You know how to clear a room," he said to Sarek.

"When a room should be cleared," Sarek said with a meaningful glance at the rest of Spock's Vulcan guests.

Sanjean and Silanjar and the others took that as cues to go too. "We have not forgotten your offer, Captain, regarding touring your ship, when Spock is well enough," Sanjean said.

"She's still a bit in pieces, Sanjean," Kirk said, ignoring Sarek's pointed glance at that offer. "In another week, she might be more out of her shift and ready for visitors."

Sanjean nodded, and as the group left, Kirk heard him explaining to his fellow Councilors that humans, illogical though it might seem, referred to ships as **female**.

With typical Vulcan manners, Spock now struggled to his feet, apparently determined to see his visitors out. They walked through the gardens, Sarek vigilant as if half expecting Spock to collapse into a rosebush. But they made it to the gates unscarred. The others hadn't left yet, they had momentarily paused beside a new vehicle parked on the sands outside the gate, a sleek craft with a warp sled, and lines so achingly beautiful to the spacer in Kirk that he felt his mouth water in sheer desire to fly it.

"Whose is this?" Sanjean asked with an admiring glance.

"Spock's," Sarek said, giving the craft a critical once over that told Kirk he himself hadn't seen it himself until now.

"No," Spock said, sounding puzzled, "It's-"

"A gift from your mother," Sarek said repressively under his breath to Spock, with a _pas devant les etrangers _tone.

"Oh." Spock closed his mouth and immediately dropped the subject. Kirk had to admit, that for all they hadn't spoken much in eighteen years, at times Spock and Sarek seemed to understand each other perfectly.

After a few more admiring comments, the group piled into their own striped and blazoned vehicles and took off.

In the sudden silence of their departure, Spock gave a little soft exhalation of relief. Kirk put a surreptitious arm under his elbow as they walked back in through the gate. Once there, Spock sank down on a bench beside a fountain rather than go further, clearly worn out.

"I think perhaps you require a nap," Sarek said reviewing him critically.

Spock shook his head fractionally. "I am better, with their departure." He rubbed his temples slightly, the gesture once again outlining the ugly scars on his wrists. "My shields are recovering. So many people... suddenly overwhelmed them. Momentarily."

"My understanding from your mother was that this was to be a visit of only a few."

"The others were passing," Spock said, a bit breathlessly. "Sanjean invited them."

"A fine thing for him to make them free of my house," Sarek said, regarding Spock narrowly. "Let me help you to bed, Spock."

Spock had his head down, fingers to his temples again, obviously struggling for control, his breath ragged. "I would rather...sit here in the sun. Where it is warm."

"It is too damp by this fountain."

Spock shook his head fractionally, fading fast, but stubborn in spite of it. "Here."

"I'll stay with you, Spock. If you want me to," Kirk amended, suspecting Spock couldn't make it up those stairs under his own power, and was unwilling for Sarek to carry him.

Spock nodded.

"Very well. " Sarek relented. "Not too long," he said in an soft aside to Kirk, and frowning again at Spock, took his leave.

Once Sarek left, Spock closed his eyes, and molding himself into the side of the bench, fell almost immediately into an exhausted sleep. A few minutes later, T'Jar appeared, carrying a tray with iced drinks, obviously meant for Kirk. Kirk pointed to Spock, holding a finger to his lips. T'Jar set down the tray and went away on silent Vulcan feet, her departure masked by the tinkling fountain. Kirk poured himself a glass of iced tea. In the heat of the afternoon sun, in this Vulcan part of the gardens, the cold drink was doubly welcome to him. He was reluctantly grateful for Sarek's thoughtfulness.

But that thoughtfulness could be a double-edged sword. It occurred to him, he'd almost rather Sarek still be at odds with Spock. Not quite. He didn't want to wish that breach on anyone, much less his friend and colleague. Or that friend's father.

But in some respects he agreed with Silanjar. Open conflict might not be a desirable thing, but it could make things so much easier. When there was a clear enemy to fight and beat at all cost, sans politeness, sans rules.

And he had to admit, even if Spock wasn't thrilled over the flyer, it made **him** feel better. Not just because it would be fun to toy with. But because, Starship Captain that he was, he felt a lot more in control with a warp powered craft at his immediate disposal. Fast enough to go anywhere in the Federation. Fast enough to catch up with the Enterprise, should Spock be inadvertently separated from her for a little while. No worry about somehow jimmying Sarek's, if it had come to that.

With a fast, agile craft, he just felt better all around. Some of his anxiety lifted.

He was grateful to Amanda for suggesting it. Though he was sure she hadn't intended it in the sense he regarded it. As a lifeline back to Starfleet.

But there it was. Just in case.

He looked over at Spock, drank his iced tea, and smiled in relief.

_To be continued..._


	22. Chapter 22

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 22**

As McCoy paced through the Terran Medical Center, one part was enjoying the higher humidity and cooler ambient temperature. The other was analyzing his reaction to so many human faces after spending several days on a world where humans were an infinitesimal minority.

He'd always imagined himself an old country doctor in the classic sense. Happiest - delighted really –just poking tummies and peering at throats, diagnosing runny noses and headaches. In medical school and in his internship, he'd developed a reputation for gifted hands. He'd taken a surgical residency partly because his teachers had told him he'd be wasted elsewhere, and he'd been flattered that he could secure it against his competition. His wife had also reminded him that it offered the biggest bucks. After their relative poverty while he slogged through medical school, internship and residency, she was ready to appreciate finer things. So he'd become a surgeon by default. And his thoughts of handing out lollipops with hypospray immunizations and diagnosing cases of flu were replaced with six a.m. operating room sessions and mostly seeing his patients sedated and reduced to a small opening in a sterile wrapped form. He was gifted at surgery; the hospitals loved him; the patients did well, and his wife was thrilled when he was offered a surgery position at a prestigious teaching hospital in one of the major cities in Boston. It wasn't quite the country life doctoring he had in mind, but everyone seemed happy with it. Except for him at times, but that country doctoring dream seemed to get dimmer as he climbed through his medical training. The naive dreaming of a kid. And he did his own bit of preening at his level of medical skill.

But it was in his surgical residency that one of his mentors, wiser than he, had taken his hubris down a notch by reminding him that in the beginnings of medicine on Earth, surgeons were considered the lowest form of doctor, just a cut above a barber. That it was the physician who had the truest origin to the practice of medicine: one of philosophy, medicine, pharmacology, surgery only when required. He'd needed that, having had begun to develop a very swelled head over his expertise. And the old man had been right too. He'd never forgotten that lesson.

Psychiatry was a very distant third of his medical specialties. He had come to realize fairly quickly with his post surgery patients that health of the body and health of the mind were closely aligned. That a good mental attitude helped his patients stay healthier, and recover more quickly. But he'd only dabbled in his understanding of it as a civilian doctor. When he'd joined Fleet, his patient load drastically changed from his civilian days, largely became young, physically fit and superbly conditioned young adults. And his practice of medicine changed dramatically as well. His cases instead mostly involved acute physical - or psychological trauma - from the perils of space.

But in space, psych troubles were also more chronically an issue than the common cold. The longer a ship stayed out in deep space, after all, the less the crew suffered from common infectious diseases. But humans weren't meant to live in long term confinement in a tin can in space, rarely able to breathe fresh air or eat unreconstituted food. Cooped up, cheek by jowl with their neighbors who were also their colleagues, in an artificial military hierarchy that put an extra level of restraint on friendships and relationships outside of work, they developed all sorts of stress issues. McCoy may have signed on as Chief Surgeon, but he became a shrink by default.

Starfleet recruits were screened for their ability to handle the environment, and ruthlessly decommissioned in their training cruises for any sign of intolerance. Starfleet's believing it was better to cull the inherently unsuitable. But screening only went so far. A lot of McCoy's work involved trying to help those who joined and, once the novelty of life in space became routine, struggled with adapting long term. A good percentage inevitably washed out even with the best of help. McCoy had a lot of sympathy for them, because he'd never been that enamored of that aspect of Starfleet life himself. It just wasn't a natural environment for humans. Few could handle it long term.

He'd been warned too, in his Fleet training, that he had to keep a perpetual finger on the pulse of command officers. That all Starship captains, even the best, sometimes **especially** the best of them, could develop a Caesar complex. One had to have an ego to become a Starship Captain. But being solely in charge of a ship often largely out of contact with the rest of society, with all the power and isolation that involved, a Captain's required ego could inflate, or even collapse. Either way, it became a detriment to the officer and the mission. Some captains cracked and broke. For others, power went to their heads like a particularly nasty euphoric drug. There had been horrible past examples of that. Starfleet never wanted another Garth of Izar, and every Chief Surgeon was ordered to ride herd on his Captain, spurring a flagging one with pep talks and counseling, checking any tendency toward despotism.

And a Chief Surgeon also had to keep an eye on the younger command officers. A downcheck from one could break an otherwise promising officer, preventing him from ever getting that third half stripe.

It was no wonder he and Jim sparred verbally at times.

That aliens were part of the mix only added to the difficulties, both for Chief Surgeons and for Fleet. Part of Spock's overlong posting with the Enterprise was because of his heritage. Starfleet would deny it but they had no idea where to **put** him. Few Captains beside Pike were comfortable with a Vulcan officer.

Spock would have made faster progress if he had transferred to a primarily Vulcan ship. But then, if Spock had wanted a Vulcan ship, he'd have stayed on Vulcan. But Fleet had a hard time analyzing a Vulcan's ability to work with a human crew. Spock had been held at Science Officer for 12 years in part because of Fleet's comfort that science was where a Vulcan **belonged**. Not command. Even when Number One left Fleet, when Spock should have gotten a bump, they'd kept Spock safely in the spot they felt he excelled in.

Finally, when Mitchell crashed and burned, a victim of space and the little Caesar complex, Starfleet gave in and gave Spock his step, almost as a test for the new boy wonder Captain. The Fleet was changing under the pressure of more non-human Federation members. The old guard of Captains, mostly Human, mostly Terran, all male, were being forced to accommodate a changing Federation. And Spock and Jim had succeeded as a Command team, beyond Fleet's expectations. So Spock moved from Lieutenant Commander to full Commander. Very little doubt until now, with this mission's aftermath, that Spock would eventually get that final bump to Captain, and the flag rank that would inevitably follow. If death didn't claim him first.

But living even for a few days as part of a very small human minority on Vulcan had given McCoy a new appreciation for how hard Spock must have found it, plunging into a human dominated military academy and then taking Starfleet service on a ship full of humans. And succeeding. Not just professionally. Succeeding in staying **Vulcan. **In spite of spending half his life in almost the sole company of humans. After only a week on Vulcan, McCoy had a new respect for that accomplishment.

Humans, McCoy knew, were chameleons. Even when they conquered a society, as conquerors they often were assimilated into the society they had overtaken. McCoy could feel that pressure on Vulcan. Keep a larger personal space. Don't touch. Keep your voice pitched lower, in relation to Vulcan acuity in hearing. Tone down human boisterousness - restrain those expressions and certainly don't laugh. It wasn't that Vulcans said anything. It was that they took a step back, when you violated personal space restrictions, wider for Vulcans. That they withdrew when you spoke too loudly or intruded on their shields. Human behavior tended to raise eyebrows from Vulcans even across a room. McCoy had a new respect for Amanda, staying so human on Vulcan. Bonded to one too.

No doubt Spock's experiences with Amanda's humanity had made Spock's transition to Fleet easier. But it still had to have been culture shock of a significant kind.

And it must still be damn hard for him in Fleet. Even eighteen years later. With half his life lived in StarFleet service. There were still plenty of officers prejudiced against aliens.

It couldn't have been much easier for him on Vulcan though. No wonder Sarek, Amanda too, thought it was better that he grow up entirely Vulcan.

Except for the fact that he **wasn't**.

The problem was that he really didn't fit anywhere. Even Amanda, a human living on Vulcan, **knew** she was human. Spock had no such comfort.

Starfleet service, for a Vulcan/human hybrid had stresses above and beyond what a normal officer would encounter. And those, as McCoy well knew, could be hard enough, even sans an enforced sojourn with Klingon hospitality. Was he strong enough to make it there now?

And if not, would returning to Vulcan be a viable solution for him? Spock had managed as a half Vulcan in Fleet. Succeeded professionally, even if he had stayed overlong as Science Officer. Though given his relative age compared to a human's lifespan, and his background, probably he'd been too young anyway to handle Command responsibilities for 430 humans.

Could he manage now as a half human on Vulcan? His past successes could only be regarded as mixed. Academically Spock had succeeded. Personally, McCoy rather thought he had not.

To McCoy, that had to play a big factor in his ultimate recommendations for this patient. Spock might be better off in some shore based Fleet assignment than on Vulcan if he couldn't handle active duty.

But Vulcan was still McCoy's first choice, if active duty wasn't an option. Wearing his shrink hat, McCoy thought Spock's leaving Vulcan was part reasonable exploration of his divided heritage. But it was also partially a failure to make it here. And McCoy wasn't comfortable seeing his patients fail, for any reason. Even apart from the consideration of Vulcan as a viable option. It was one thing for Spock to have a real choice and choose Starfleet. Another thing for him to go back to Starfleet, once again, because he was at least in part running away. No Starfleet Command officer could get a complete upcheck from McCoy with that tarnishing his record. Especially with his post Klingon difficulties. Spock had been divided and struggling before. But when stressed too much, minds had a tendency to break. And given he'd fled Vulcan before, could he handle Vulcan now, broken and injured?

To that end, McCoy had come to the Terran Medical Center, not to take a busman's tour this time, but on a specific mission. He scanned the wall directory, found the office he sought, and told the receptionist he was here for his appointment.

Amanda's personal physician, Mark Abrams was an oddity to McCoy. One of those humans who lived on an alien world, but largely within a human enclave. McCoy supposed it was not really different than humans who lived on Starbases, or space-based research outposts, or those who spent their lives in diplomatic service, shuttling from one foreign service post to another. And of course **someone** had to take these jobs. But McCoy didn't understand it. At least Amanda had moved to Vulcan out of love. Some moved around for love of the strange, the new, the alien. But to live on an alien, even uncomfortable world, but work and live mostly in a human-type environment with humans, seemed confoundedly stupid to McCoy.

But he let none of that show in his manner. Abrams was old enough to be his father, had come to Vulcan as Terran Embassy staff personnel when that in itself was a brave move. Built up a practice, of mostly humans, but some aliens and hybrids like Spock. A tall, craggy man with grizzled fair hair, he was lean as most humans came to be on Vulcan, with faint lines around gray eyes but an otherwise youthful countenance. Abrams was cordial, if a bit puzzled. He forgo shaking McCoy's hand, but that was par for the course for humans who'd spent any significant time on Vulcan, and gestured him to a chair. "Is there something we missed on our tour, Doctor?"

"Actually, no, this is more of a professional consultation."

"Are you feeling unwell?" Abrams asked with polite concern, seating himself at his desk.

McCoy chuckled thinking of his somewhat painful adaptation to this world. "No more than any human newly acclimating to Vulcan. I'm managing well enough. No, I meant that I understand you've treated Commander Spock at times in the past. I want to review his records."

Abrams frowned at that. "His records are private."

"Not to me," McCoy asserted with a deceptively charming smile. "When he joined Fleet, Spock signed a standard release allowing any Fleet physician access to his prior medical records for the purposes of treating any medical conditions." When Abrams didn't budge or change expression, McCoy added, a little surprised at his resistance. "I can produce a facsimile, if necessary."

Abrams just shook his head, unimpressed. "That's **Federation** law. This is Vulcan."

"Vulcan **is** in the Federation, last I checked," McCoy noted, a bit testily.

"Their treaty exempts them from certain Federation laws. I don't know that it applies." Abrams said, still with no give.

"Oh, really?" McCoy felt his ire begin to rise. "Well, I can assure you, I've spent the last week reviewing his records at the Healer's Enclave. **They** had no problem acknowledging my medical authority."

"I'd prefer to have Spock's consent."

"I **told** you," McCoy said. "He's already given it."

Abrams only shrugged. "Even with it, I still don't think I could release his records without his parents' consent."

"He's an adult."

"Not entirely, not by Vulcan standards," Abrams said, looking mulish. "Especially when he first signed that release his status was very much in contention."

"Fine. Call them." McCoy gestured to the communications unit. "I can't believe either one would put any obstacles in the way of Spock's possible recovery."

"Those records are encrypted," Abrams said, making no move to the unit. "It would take me time to go through them, organize them for you."

McCoy frowned at that suspiciously. "First I've ever heard that decrypting involves more than putting in the right sequence of codes."

Abrams stood, as if urging McCoy to leave. "I'll try and have them for you in three or four days. After I've cleared your access with both Sarek and Amanda."

"What would take days?" McCoy said, not budging from his chair. "What the hell is in these records that you need to sit on them that long? Or review them for that matter? I just want to give them a look-see."

"They're **my** records," Abrams said.

"They're **Spock's**." McCoy said. "Look, you call Sarek now. I don't care what high falutin' Federation meeting you have to pull him out of. As for Spock's consent, I'm not going to bother him with that. He's signed a release, and that's it as far as that needs to go. Or by God, I'll get T'Pau and a Starfleet Admiral talking to each other. And I'll still get what I want. All you will have done is delay me."

Abrams still looked reluctant. "Give me a moment to call Sarek."

"Now, you're talking sense," McCoy said sourly.

"Wait out there, please," Abrams said, gesturing to the outer room. "I want to talk to Sarek in private."

"Oh for -" McCoy rose. "I'm a **doctor**," he threw over his shoulder. "Do you think there's anything there I haven't seen before?"

"With this family, I take precautions," Abrams said, unbending. "Please, doctor."

McCoy went out to the waiting room and cooled his heels for a good twenty minutes. By the time the half hour mark appeared, he was debating between beating on the office door or making a few calls of his own, when the door panel swept aside and Abrams called. "Doctor?"

"It's about time," McCoy groused.

Abrams had a computer file open on his viewer, and had clearly been paging through it. He didn't look happy. "I've talked to Sarek. He **has** consented."

"Well," McCoy said, "I told you so. Hand 'em over."

Abrams desisted, his hands still protectively on the records. "I would still prefer you wait for me to write a summary of these. I can have it for you tomorrow."

"No."

"I thought you would say that," Abrams said with a grimace. He looked down at the records and setting his mouth, shrugged resolutely. "Fine. You can read them here. Afterwards, I'll answer any questions you have. But you can't take them with you. Or make copies."

"I told you-"

Abrams met his eyes, stonily. "I don't care. They're my records. So it's my rules. I'm damn careful with anything involving that family. And if you had my history with them, you'd be too. Take it or leave it. Your next option is your Admiral and T'Pau. And by that time, I might not be able to **find** exactly what you want. In fact, I probably won't."

"Meaning you'd have time to edit them." McCoy said with dawning realization.

"Take it or leave it. Nothing here leaves this office, not physically, electronically or otherwise. Except in your brain."

"Eyes only, huh?" McCoy said. "All right. I agree."

Abrams nodded. "I have some patients of my own to see. That'll give you an hour or so with them. Probably more than enough. I didn't see him that often, especially as he grew older. I'll trust you, Doctor." He nodded and gestured McCoy behind his office desk. And then, as if he didn't want to be around, he walked out.

"What the hell?" McCoy said the empty room. Then he shrugged. "Civilians."

McCoy was no civilian. He'd seen a lot in his Starfleet career. In his previous career, he'd been a top flight physician and surgeon in the best of Terran teaching hospitals. But Abrams had been right in one respect. These were the human physician's personal medical files. Clearly he'd written them for himself, never expecting to give the unexpurgated versions to anyone. McCoy had rarely read a medical record where the physician in question had a personal relationship with both parents and the child. It colored everything the physician had recorded.

McCoy himself had a personal relationship with that child, however grown now. Professional though he was, even trying to read from a strictly medical perspective, his own personal reactions to what he read encroached on him. His forehead broke out in sweat. Grizzled veteran surgeon that he was, his stomach grew queasy. Before the hour was quite up, he lurched to the physician's private fresher, and threw up the remainder of his breakfast. Then he rinsed out his mouth and splashed water on his face, breathing hard. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to go back into that room.

Returning, he managed to finish his review. The later years were easier, far more impersonal and detached. By the time he reached the end of the file, he had got hold of himself. His fingers itched to make some notes. Purely professional notes.

But he had promised.

He settled for a slower, more detailed rereading of parts of the records. And then he dropped his head to his hands and rubbed his forehead.

"Shit," he said, reflectively.

After a while the outside door cycled, and Abrams walked in.

"You write well," McCoy said to him, seeing the doctor's unmoved countenance in comparison to his written notes. "Very...feelingly. Especially for a human physician on Vulcan."

Abrams was unrepentant and unmoved. "Told you that you should've waited for me to consolidate them."

"Edit them."

Abrams shrugged.

"Has Sarek seen these?" McCoy questioned.

"**No one** has seen them. And no one else ever will. What I said before goes. The events are one thing. Leave my analysis out of anything you discuss. With anyone. Including his parents or Spock."

McCoy sighed. "You know him pretty well, don't you? Spock."

Abrams shook his head. "I don't know him at all."

"As a child, I mean."

"Not then, either. I saw him very little. And he hated physicians. You can understand why."

"God, yes," McCoy said. "It explains a lot, actually."

"I was more his mother's friend," Abrams explained. "Not very close. Politics, diplomatic events. I met them at some social gatherings of the embassy, and occasionally attended parties they gave. I saw Amanda as a physician. There weren't many human physicians on Vulcan then. I saw Spock when his mother wanted a human opinion on her son, when she didn't believe Vulcan opinions were sufficient. Or when they were taking him off planet, and he needed immunizations for Federation diseases that Vulcans generally didn't have a lot of traffic in. As for Sarek, I really had almost no relationship with him until after Spock left Vulcan. When Spock was a child, well, Sarek really had no interest or use for human opinions on Spock. And he had no use for his wife's human friends."

"They really are alien, Vulcans," McCoy mused. "We anthropomorphize them. Try to make them human, with odd ears and strange ways. But they don't really think, or more importantly, feel like we do. Do they?"

"No. I understand Sarek a lot better than I did when I recorded those," Abrams nodded to the records. "But nothing's really changed. They don't. He doesn't. He understands things better. But he can't really change. I don't think so, anyway. I don't pretend to understand him."

McCoy sighed. "This doesn't help."

"What were you hoping to find?" Abrams asked curiously.

McCoy shrugged. "I wasn't expecting a bombshell. There were notes referring to your treatment on Spock's records at the Healer's Enclave. Cross references to consultations with you. I just wanted a complete picture of Spock's medical history. Gathering facts. But their records, and these." McCoy shook his head. "There's no comparison. Theirs is a dry recounting. Yours is-" McCoy swallowed his gorge.

"His parents had the best of intentions. There was just a...lack of understanding. At times."

"You know that old saying: the way to hell is paved with good intentions. After reading that," McCoy nodded at the record. "Spock must have walked every street in Hades. I can understand why he wanted to get away. The question is, can he really return?"

"I can't answer that," Abrams said. "I don't know him."

"What do you **think**?" McCoy asked.

Abrams was quiet a moment. "It would be hard. I was perhaps a little hard in my statements just before regarding Sarek. He **has** changed some, in the years since Spock left. He's much easier for me to deal with. He was impossible before. I think he's much easier with Amanda. But he's still Sarek. And Vulcans can be very demanding. Even possessive. Of their bondmates. Of their children. Facing Sarek would be difficult for Spock at the best of times. Now," he shrugged, "it may be asking too much. Unless Sarek is prepared to change with **him** as well. And he never gave an inch with Spock before that I could see. So I don't know."

"Hmmm." McCoy mused. "I do think there's love in that relationship."

Abrams nodded cautiously. "Maybe. But there's a lot more to that dynamic, that outweighs it."

"Does anything really outweigh love?" McCoy asked, only half rhetorically.

"For Vulcans? Absolutely."

"And now I've got to deal with that," McCoy said. He looked down at the viewer. "I almost wish I hadn't read it."

"I tried to warn you."

"No use. Even non-Vulcans, anti-Vulcans like me understand duty."

"But we don't torture our children in pursuit of it," Abrams said.

McCoy looked sharply at the physician. "You liked him, didn't you?"

"Sarek?" Mark asked.

"Spock."

"I told you. I never really had any relationship with him."

'That's not what I asked," McCoy said, prescient as always.

"His mother loved him."

"Again, not what I asked."

Abrams shook his head. "He hated me. When he was young enough to still hate. Afterwards fading to a cool distaste and absolute avoidance."

"That sounds **very** familiar to me," McCoy said with increased appreciation for the reasons behind his own turbulent relationship with Spock. "You were a doctor. After his early experiences with those genetic researchers, he'd learned to fear anyone even close to the profession. I get that. But again, you liked him. Why fight so against admitting it? **You're** not Vulcan."

"If I liked him - cared for him, even as a person, much less a child - not just medically treated him as a patient - " Abrams shook his head. "I'd have dragged him out of that situation."

"He wouldn't have gone with you. He wouldn't have trusted you. You were the enemy. And you didn't have the rights. "

Abrams nodded. "And he didn't have any allies. Perhaps I should have made more of a fuss. With Amanda. With Sarek. I didn't."

"As doctors, we can only do what we can."

"Maybe. Still, what do you do, Doctor, when you're a child, alone in a hostile universe, and you have absolutely no one on your side? Not even parents."

McCoy was stunned at that blunt assessment. "It couldn't have been that bad. His parents stopped the genetic studies when he was three. Sure, they left a permanent scar. And his relations with Sarek, even Amanda, weren't perfect. But it couldn't have been **always** bad. It just couldn't have been. I've seen his rooms - he was one indulged kid. I've watched them together."

"Not always, no. And I'll admit, I tended to see things when they were at their worst. I'll be honest, Dr. McCoy-"

"If we're going to be so honest, then call me Leonard," McCoy said.

"Leonard. I didn't **want** to know Spock. I had no influence with his parents - not even with Amanda. I had enough trouble keeping a reasonable relationship with Amanda, enough to treat her. I told you Vulcans were possessive. There was **nothing** I could do for Spock. I felt bad for him, in what little I did see of him. But he was so far removed from my scope of influence, there was nothing I could say or do, that could make a difference."

"You're feeling guilty. I don't think you bear any responsibility. And Spock would be the last person to hold anyone else responsible for his life choices or issues. In even the smallest way."

"You were a G.P. before you entered Fleet," Abrams said. Proving he had done his own checking on McCoy.

"For just a bit," McCoy allowed.

"Probably you held down a crying kid for a minute, to do some procedure."

"Possibly," McCoy said.

"Try doing it with an unshielded little touch-telepath, who's learned from experience all doctors bring pain. Then fail, because even at that age, Vulcan kids are a hefty handful. Deal with Amanda when **she** can't get him to listen to her, forcing her to call in Sarek. Thus proving Sarek's contention that she's too indulgent with Spock. Then have Sarek walk into your exam room, complete with hysterical child and furious mother and use some Vulcan parental bond thing to discipline him. And then deal with the kid, after both parents have walked out to argue. A kid who doesn't fight any more. Just falls apart on your exam table, because his world, his life is shattered past his ability to cope. And then," Abrams pauses," you **still** have to **treat** him. You don't dare get him in more trouble. And you don't feel all of what he's feeling. Not a tenth, not a hundredth. But enough bleeds through his imperfect shields that you can barely stand it even long enough to give him a hypospray."

"I don't envy you that experience," McCoy acknowledged.

"Just one. Not of many, but any one of them **too** many. I know he made it. He's got toughness from both side of his heritage. And as you say, it wasn't all bad for him. He was a nice kid, in spite of his anathema toward me. Loved his parents, maybe too much. I was never at the Fortress much when he was younger, but at times I did see him there, and looking relatively content. Until he spotted me of course, and faded out of sight. His parents obviously cared for him too, in their own variously flawed ways. They both did what they thought was best for him. And you're right, privileged doesn't even begin to describe his existence. But there were times in that dynamic when I thought he would have been far better off if he'd been anyone else's son. Or had never been born."

McCoy winced at that. "Ouch. I won't deny Spock had some difficult problems with which to contend. And has some issues as a result. But I think, all things considered, he's made a reasonably functional adjustment to his particular situation."

"I'm glad you think so, Doctor. I was never quite convinced. But I'm glad for you, that you only have to deal with the fallout from his being tortured by Klingons. Not by colleagues, or the parents you consider friends."

"You have a point. Do you think he can stand it here again?" McCoy asked thoughtfully. "If it comes to that. That's part of what I'm trying to assess."

"You'll have to talk to Sarek about that. I have no idea how tolerant he might be, or how much he might excuse. He was very intolerant towards the end before Spock left for Fleet. Sarek will have to understand ahead of time he has to change. Because Spock can fake being fully Vulcan so well for him. Too well. So well, that Sarek can disregard what Spock is. And try to mold him into what he wants. And when **you** leave Vulcan, Leonard, I'm not sure **I** want to deal with the fallout from that. Or confront Sarek over it." Abrams shook his head. "I'm not sure I can."

"Point taken," McCoy said. Then added, "Why do you stay here?"

"You haven't been long enough on Vulcan, to ask such a question." Abrams said, shaking his head. "Personal. Way too personal."

"You love her," McCoy said with sudden insight.

"No," Mark said, shaking his head slowly. Without heat. "I never have. But let's just say, if she wasn't some Vulcan's property, maybe I **could** have. But I did - and do -care for her as a friend. As for why I stay, well, it's my home now."

"Hmmm. That's probably another reason why Spock hated you," McCoy said, wiser with a more detailed acquaintance with Spock. When Abrams looked at him, McCoy tapped his temple. "Touch telepath. I wager you never fooled **him**. He was jealous of any competition for his mother. Even from you as a friend."

Abrams nodded. "Another reason why** you'll ** have to settle this with Sarek, one way or the other, Leonard. You're really the only one who can. Spock has never been much of a fan of mine. And I've never had any influence with Sarek regarding Spock."

McCoy grimaced at that and rose. "As last words go, this is one I don't need. Thanks for the review," he said, nodding at the records. "I think."

"No notes," Abrams reminded him.

"No notes," McCoy agreed and took his leave.

This time, McCoy was too distracted to ponder his reaction to so many human faces in a Vulcan world. The conversation had given him new insight. And new problems. He understood better, for example, why Abrams had stayed on Vulcan. Humans adapted to alien environments in all sorts of ways. Abrams might not love Amanda. He might consider himself only a friend, and be only a friend, shutting off his heart from any too deep embroilment in Amanda. Or her son, the child Abrams had clearly come to like, before he shut himself off from that too.

But that posed a bigger problem. If Amanda deferred her concern for Spock, over Sarek's greater needs for an heir and a son, as it seemed clear she had done in the past, and probably would tend to do in the future - McCoy knew that at heart, people seldom changed - and if Abrams was going to defer any human viewpoint on Spock in favor of not upsetting Amanda's Vulcan applecart, or even Spock's or Sarek's, then McCoy had lost the one independent human advocate he had hoped might represent Spock on his and Starfleet's account, if and when McCoy left his charge on Vulcan to recuperate. The one whom he had thought, being closest to the family, that both Amanda and Sarek would respect and perhaps credit.

Spock's parents might have changed and could understand Spock's requirements better with distance from their former conflicts. But McCoy couldn't rely on that. It wasn't a safe bet. And Spock wasn't yet able to fight for himself yet. If Abrams refused to take on a medical role, then McCoy either had to find someone else to fulfill that role, or take it on himself.

He **could** get a deferred posting away from the Enterprise to do some sort of research on Vulcan. Spock was more valuable to Starfleet than one fairly ordinary ship's surgeon. They'd go the extra parsec to get Spock reinstated, even if it meant parting with McCoy for a bit. Or worst choice, McCoy could have someone from the nearest Starfleet installation stop in periodically and check on Spock.

But McCoy knew the latter option wouldn't really be satisfactory. For one thing, Spock didn't trust medical personnel easily - and viewing his medical history through Abram's eyes, McCoy understood much better now why that had come about. It had made perfect sense for Spock's parents to allow the geneticists who'd assisted in his conception to follow him post birth. But they'd been scientists, not pediatricians. They clearly hadn't possessed much of a bedside manner and regarded their small patient more like an experimental subject rather than a child. McCoy could attest that even three decades later, Spock hadn't gotten past that distrust, or the fear and anger that lay buried underneath his reflexive wariness with the medical profession. Some doctors were damn fools who had no business treating kids.

But that still left him with the same problem. A Vulcan in need of treatment, no really satisfactory safe harbor for him. The clock ticking until he had to make a decision.

It was at these times McCoy fervently wished he had stayed on Earth, giving out lollipops with immunizations and poking bellies.

To be continued...


	23. Chapter 23

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 23**

When McCoy arrived back at Spock's home, he discovered Jim lounging in the shade of a large lematya statue in the garden, his back against its base, face turned into the sun, idly tossing pebbles into the fountain, while he spoke into his communicator. Spock was on the stone bench, half attending Jim's conversation, and half drowsing. Just by the set of his captain's shoulders, McCoy thought it was the most relaxed Jim Kirk he had seen in months. McCoy had to approve anything that got Jim to take a break out of his usual pressure-filled existence. Though Spock being captured by Klingons was perhaps an extreme example.

"Can it be that you two managed to spend the afternoon without tempting the enmity of aliens or wild animals?" McCoy teased. "If so, I approve."

"Hey, Bones," Kirk greeted him. "I've been filling Spock in on the _Enterprise's_ refit. Scotty is ecstatic. I think he's half ready to transfer to Shikahr Enterprises R&D."

"What yard did you say, Captain?" Spock said, frowning slightly, his head raised in surprise.

"I told you. Weren't you listening?" Kirk closed his communicator. "Shikahr Enterprises. Some holding company for a name I can't pronounce."

Spock appeared puzzled by that. "You are quite sure?"

"It's my ship. Of course I'm sure." Kirk eyed him narrowly. "Any reason why you should be surprised? All their Starship warp certifications are in order."

"I am sure they are well qualified," Spock said, subdued, or perhaps just with his usual reserve. "I did not think they worked on Starfleet vessels however."

"With Vulcan Space Central patrolling most of this quadrant, Fleet cruisers don't **have** much cause to come closer than Rigel, do they?" Kirk said. "So this must be a special case."

"Indeed it is a special case," Spock mused.

"Anything I need to know about that?" Kirk asked. "Anything I **should** know?"

Spock's eyes widened in classic Vulcan innocence. "I don't believe so."

"Uh-huh... Vulcan, your mystery planet. We'll leave it at that for now." Kirk turned to McCoy. "Where've you been, Bones?"

"Oh, I just took a wander over to the Terran Medical Center. Had a bit of a chat with your old physician, Dr. Abrams, Spock," McCoy remarked, curious to see how his patient would react to a shot over that particular wheatfield.

Spock's eyes cut to his, exactly as McCoy had expected. But he didn't react adversely. "Indeed," he merely said, unperturbed after that first suspicious assessment. He leaned back against the statue again and closed his eyes.

"You remember him, don't you Spock?" McCoy persisted.

Spock raised a brow at that, and shifted slightly. "I may be somewhat...battered, Doctor, from the effect of our last mission," he said, with his old familiar irony. "But my **memory** on something so basic is unaffected."

McCoy drew breath to continue, but at that moment, Amanda's flyer winked out of the sky, swooped in a graceful curve, and settled in the hangar with barely a check of speed.

"Does she always fly like that Spock?" Kirk muttered with a half grin, half grimace.

"Are you qualified to judge, Captain?" Spock teased back, also sotto voce, amused but with a _not my mother_ subtext yeasting through his manner. McCoy chuckled softly at that.

Kirk raised his brow but Amanda was walking through the gate before he or McCoy could continue it.

"Spock! Lovely to see you downstairs at last," Amanda said as she came over to them. She nodded to Kirk and McCoy. Leaning down, she brushed a brief kiss on the top of her son's head. He clearly hadn't expected that and squirmed in reaction. "Mother," he said tersely, with Vulcan exasperation.

"Oh, goodness, I think you'll survive **that**," Amanda countered, unrepentant, dropping her briefcase on the fountain bench. "I see that your father's here," she noted, not sounding pleased. "What did he do, come home early to chase away your guests?"

"Yes," Kirk said, amused in spite of himself. "He did." Spock just eyed his mother warily.

"Figures," Amanda said, but without much heat. "Your father is incorrigible. I'll talk to **him** later."

"I'll buy a seat for that," Kirk muttered.

"And Spock, I spoke to your grandmother today. She indicated she would be pleased if you could attend her at dinner tomorrow." She sat down on the fountain bench with the trace of a sigh for the heat, and trailed her fingers in the water, splashing her wrists and the back of her neck. "I warned her it might be a **little** soon. But she is getting impatient. And you know that's never a good thing."

"We'll see," McCoy said, drawing a hand over his brow. "Lord, it's hot out here. What say we relocate to somewhere cooler?"

"Yes," Amanda said. "What **are** you all doing in the Vulcan part of the gardens? It's much too hot here for humans." Her eyes focused suddenly on Kirk's face. "And **you've** gotten sunburned. Sarek will not be pleased."

"With all due respect, Lady Amanda," Kirk said, mild but unbending, "I'm a Starship Captain."

"Where have I heard that before?" She tilted her head. "Still, that makes you immune from sunstroke?"

McCoy choked at that.

"If not, Sarek can still have nothing to say about it," Kirk said.

But Amanda had turned her head. "And I'm sure he just heard **that**," Amanda murmured in an undertone, with a significant glance beyond them.

Kirk looked over his shoulder to see Sarek winding his way through the gardens toward them.

"Captain Kirk is quite correct," Sarek said, evenly as he approached. "Although I did advise him not to spend so long in the gardens, he need not heed my advice. Should he choose to be so illogical as to disregard it." His eyes passed mildly over Kirk to settle on his son. "You, however-"

Spock looked at Sarek, as if he didn't quite know what to make of him. Very different from his armored ironic defensiveness with Sarek on the Enterprise. The dynamic between them had changed. But not yet settled firmly into some new pattern. Sarek appeared to have picked up parentally where he had left off with Spock eighteen years earlier. With so little relationship in the years between, that might be considered natural. Even sans the 'letting go' most parents learn with their grown children. Though from what McCoy had gathered, Vulcans had a longer adolescence and a stronger parental authority, even after a child had grown to adulthood.

Spock, however, had lived the last eighteen years without a practicing father figure. He might have looked for other substitutes: in Chris Pike, in the Surak creation. But had largely been on his own. McCoy would make bet that given how strongly resistant Spock had been about returning to Vulcan, and how he had kept up his own side in the eighteen year silence with his father, he wasn't going to fall lockstep back into their prior pre-Starfleet relationship, and certainly not without consequences. Which in itself had ended in a rather tumultuous break, by all accounts.

For now, Spock looked at Sarek uncertainly. Perhaps at the concern Sarek's comment indicated, unfamiliar after eighteen years of disregard and rejection. But perhaps also at the reproof hinted at in the statement. Mild perhaps by Sarek's former standards, but clearly present. Spock looked away from Sarek, dropped his gaze, appearing suddenly confused and uncomfortable. Unwilling to engage. His manner changed so abruptly that Kirk frowned.

"You look tired, Spock," McCoy said, recognizing the withdrawal. "How about a nap before dinner?"

Spock nodded, head still down, and rose, albeit a bit shakily, not quite looking at anyone.

"Can you manage the stairs?" McCoy asked.

Spock nodded again.

_No words_, McCoy noted clinically. _He is overtaxed._

"Sarek," Amanda said, clearly not entirely pleased either at Spock's transformation. She frowned pointedly at her husband.

The elder Vulcan looked at her, and raised a brow. Vulcan mystified. He didn't seem to think he'd done anything wrong. Perhaps from a Vulcan perspective, he hadn't. Except that Spock had turned pale. McCoy surmised part of his stay in the gardens had been because he wasn't quite sure he could make it upstairs on his own. Probably hanging on by a thread, relatively at ease when it was only his Captain's company, until all these new dynamics, and new minds, added more stress than he could handle. Meanwhile Kirk's brow had bunched in a thunderhead of storm clouds. The air by the fountain was suddenly pregnant with unspoken comments.

McCoy just wanted to get Spock out of it before any storm broke. So far, no one had yet lost it or argued in front of Spock. And he wanted to keep it that way.

"Easy," he said, putting a hand under Spock's elbow.

But Spock took a step, and then went down.

Two hours later, McCoy came into dinner, and shook his head. "He's still out like a light," he reported.

That opened a storm of comments formerly held back as everyone spoke, beginning the argument Spock's nosedive had interrupted and delayed.

McCoy stood up and waved his arms. "Kroykah!" In the sudden silence that command engendered, he laid it out. "If you want to assess blame, **all** of you are at fault. "You," he pointed at Kirk, "don't get **angry**. You," he pointed at Sarek, "don't get **pushy**. And you," he pointed at Amanda, who looked as if he were going to slap her, and relented. "Well, **you** haven't been **too** bad. So far. But don't get into it with Sarek in front of him."

"I didn't say **any**-"

McCoy frowned at the group, exasperated with all of them. "For supposedly intelligent people, you haven't got a clue. His shields are wrecked. He's telepath enough that he can't take all your contention. Whether you say anything or **not**. Give him a damn break, all of you." Having said his piece, he sat down and addressed himself to dinner.

"He was fine until-" Kirk began hotly.

McCoy tilted his head as he ladled food on his plate. "Jim," he said warningly. "You are out of line. I haven't forgotten the warning I gave you when we first got here. It still stands. So don't push me."

"The Enterprise will be ready to leave in a week," Kirk said. "He'll be better when we can get back to normal."

Even Sarek had to react to that, giving Kirk a glance. "Normal," he said, in as incredulous a tone as a Vulcan could utter.

McCoy laid his fork down and addressed his Captain. "I haven't cleared Spock for duty, as you well know, Jim. I haven't **begun** to clear him. He hasn't even begun to work on **starting** that process. Until then, he's not going **anywhere**. Do you want him to fold like that on the bridge facing off a Klingon warship?"

"He wouldn't."

"You hope. **I** have to **know**. Do you expect me to let Starfleet lose the _Enterprise_ through his incompetence? Not to mention the 430 lives on it."

Kirk rose furious at that. "Incompetence! How can you claim that, after what he did? You know damn well he held off against the worst they threw at him!"

"Defense is not offense. Jim." McCoy gestured with a fork. "Spock's always been more of a defensive rather than offensive strategist, as well you know. He won't be able to function in command unless he can fight as well as resist. And I'm not seeing that yet," McCoy shook his head. "Stop thinking like his friend. Think like the Command officer you are."

"I am his command officer. Yes, he has a slower fuse," Kirk argued back at McCoy, forgetting the others at the table. "But he has to. Vulcans are lethal once they are lit. It's just a different command style. You've **never** appreciated that Bones."

McCoy shook his head. "You're deluding yourself. He's not shown any signs to me he's ready to start working on his reinstatement."

"How would you know anything about it? You've never held Command. Hell," Kirk threw down his napkin. "You've never even **liked** him!"

"That's enough!" McCoy snapped.

"I believe that **is** quite enough," Sarek interjected.

Kirk looked around the table, obviously biting back words. "I'm going to go sit with Spock," he said.

"Damn," McCoy said. He rubbed his forehead, and looked over at his hosts. "Sorry about that." He shook his head. "Starship Captains. On their ships they have nearly ultimate authority. We call it the little Caesar complex. It can be damn hard for them to adjust back into an environment where they have to share. He doesn't like splitting his authority with me." He eyed Sarek. "Or with you for that matter."

Sarek raised a brow at that. "I cannot see that I have done anything."

"It's not just you, Sarek. Amanda too." McCoy sighed. "Though she doesn't have quite your overbearing air of authority."

"Thanks," Amanda said. "I think."

"Look, I'm at a loss here," McCoy confessed. "I don't know anything about Vulcan family dynamics. But I can tell you this from my familiarity with Spock, such as it is."

"You have known him how long?" Sarek asked a bit pointedly.

"Three years. I agree, you've known him longer. But I know him as he is **now**. **Not** as the child he was eighteen years ago."

That caused Sarek to sit back, his mouth setting.

McCoy ignored that. "Be a parent to him, Sarek. At some level, he still needs and wants that. It's a hard universe for anyone without a supportive family. Counsel him. Advise him. Love him. But you **both**," McCoy included Amanda in his warning, "have to respect the fact that he's been on his own these past eighteen years. Very successfully." He eyed Sarek as the Vulcan shifted, preparatory to countering that. "Even if you don't approve of what he did or accomplished. Don't expect to be able to order him around now. And don't punish him for independent choices when they deviate from yours."

"I had not."

McCoy shook his head. "All it takes is a look, Sarek. A tone of voice. Especially now, with his shields so battered. You stepped out of line today."

Sarek's brows rose at a relative stranger telling him how to behave in his own home, with his own child. It took him a good thirty seconds to master his reaction to that, and think about what McCoy had said. "You are asking me to never disapprove."

McCoy thought about that, then shrugged. "Yeah. For now, anyway. Until he's on his feet."

"Not possible."

"Sarek," Amanda said, giving her husband a worried look. "Just for now-"

"I thought Vulcans had all this control?" McCoy said, a bit pointedly.

Even Sarek reacted to that. After a moment, he said, "How can he be counseled or advised, without my communicating my expectations?"

"What is best for him? Or for you?"

"They are the same."

"Hm." McCoy expressed some doubt at that, eyes on Sarek. "You wouldn't want to make him a little clone of you, now, would you? He's not you."

"Of **that** I am aware." Sarek said testily.

"I don't like the sound of that, but I'll let it pass, for now. Spock is his own person, apart from the factor of his mother's heritage." McCoy nodded to Amanda. "And even though he's battered now, he's eighteen years older than you knew him. He's been tempered through command training, which is no picnic, even for someone with Spock's control and abilities. And he's been tested by all manner of space-borne trials since then. If you expect to be able to dictate to him, and have him fold, you're in for another potential eighteen year blowup. Maybe not this week, or this month, or even next year, factoring in his need to recover. But don't let his present difficulties blind you to who he is. If he recovers, he'll be back just as strong. Maybe stronger. He may fold for you **now**, Sarek. Just because he's been badly hurt and he's marshalling his strength. Though you won't be doing him or yourself any favors being another source of that. But if I know Spock, he **will** come back. And you won't want to be caught playing the heavy with him then. He's very stubborn. He won't hold still for it."

"Are you warning me now, Doctor?" Sarek asked, half in warning himself.

McCoy flicked a brow. "I suppose I am. I won't say I know him better than you. But maybe I know him better in a battle situation. Spock is more of a defensive than offensive strategist. Meeting you, I can understand how he might have developed that way. But when he is pushed too far, he **does** fight. And he fights hard. Jim is right. He doesn't like that part of himself much, but he can be lethal. I've never seen him lose once he's committed. And I have to warn you, Sarek. For your sake as well as for his. Don't set up that confrontation. You'll lose again. Or it could cause another eighteen year breach. And you can't want to do that to him. He doesn't deserve it."

Sarek eyes had narrowed, the depths baleful, the dynamic shifting again as Sarek dug in his heels. "You have brought him here. And I will do what I deem best for him."

"You **invited** him."

"And he **accepted**."

"For a **visit**. Not for you to dictate the rest of his life."

"He's **my** son."

"You don't **own** him. He's not some chattel like-"

Sarek rose so abruptly at that, his chair flying back, that McCoy drew back, startled.

"You will have to excuse me. Doctor," Sarek said so coldly that the physician almost shivered.

But McCoy caught his sleeve, not caring that he was violating Vulcan personal space. "Sarek. _Don't lose him._"

But Sarek walked out, back stiff.

McCoy looked across at Amanda who looked like she was going to faint. "What did I say?" He looked at her closely. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, of course." She swallowed hard and tried to smile. "You must be tired of being a punching bag for all these strong egos," Amanda said, but looking worriedly after Sarek.

"I **am** beginning to feel like Spock's whipping boy," McCoy said. "Everyone piling on me, because they dare not go after him." McCoy sighed and after another glance at Amanda, he settled himself back to his meal, knowing he might have a long night. "Better me than Spock I guess, for right now. And hopefully by the time he's ready to deal with it, I can get everyone to back off enough to let him make his own choices." He looked over at his hostess. "Amanda? Aren't **you** going to eat either?"

"Why did you use that word?" she asked, almost breathlessly.

"What word?"

"Chattel."

"I'm not **completely** clueless about Vulcan culture, Amanda," McCoy said, as he refilled his plate. "I was at Spock's wedding, you know. Such as it was. If Vulcans are like that with their **wives**, I can just imagine how they are with their **kids**. Especially given how Sarek **has** been with Spock. But I didn't help bring Spock back from Klingon hands to let him be trounced on by Sarek. Your husband's going to have to learn to back off, at least until Spock can fend for himself again. He doesn't scare me. I put him together once, remember."

Amanda drew a deep breath. "Don't worry. Spock will have that choice," she said. "If you'll excuse me, doctor."

"What about dinner?"

She shuddered and shook her head. "I couldn't possibly."

McCoy sighed as he was left alone. "If this was what every meal was like, I can see why Spock has always been so skinny." He took a swig of water. "And why he might have left home."

_To be continued..._


	24. Chapter 24

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 24**

Later that evening, surfeit from his meal, McCoy was drowsing in a chair in Spock's room when Spock stirred and moaned.

The physician blinked and looked over at the Vulcan. "Spock? You okay?" He sat up, rubbing his back. "I'm getting too old to sleep in chairs."

Spock opened his eyes, and fixed his on McCoy, but McCoy's first thought was that his eyes weren't really focusing. Then the Vulcan said something. In Klingonese.

"Spock. Wake up." McCoy snapped his fingers, "You know where you are, right? Spock?" McCoy rose and reached out a hand. In the next second, Spock moved, so fast McCoy didn't see the blow come. He went flying, and found himself thrown back against the wall. McCoy raised his arms over his head as a display of ancient weapons clattered to the floor around him. He looked up to find himself facing a Vulcan with fire in his eyes.

"It's McCoy, Spock," he said desperately. "From the _**Enterprise**_. You're-"

Spock grabbed a wicked looking knife from the clutter of weapons around their feet and held it out, looking between McCoy and the door, eyes scanning the room, checking for other threats, automatically cataloging every escape route. From this vantage, the outside balcony doors looked like they ended in a sheer drop.

In that brief interval, McCoy hit a setting on his communicator. "Jim, I could use some help. Bring your-"

There was the sound of someone coming through the workroom. Too quickly for it to be Jim. In that instance, the communicator went flying out of McCoy's hand and Spock's knife was at his throat.

Through the pounding of blood in his ears, McCoy heard the clatter of people coming closer. The bedroom door opened. Sarek was there, with Amanda not far behind.

Spock crouched low as they blocked what to him must seem like his only exit, no recognition in his eyes.

"Easy," McCoy cautioned. "He's still asleep."

Sarek spoke to his son in their own language, but Spock was clearly back in another place, another time. He snarled back in Klingonese, eyes flicking from one to the other, before knocking McCoy aside again so hard the physician saw stars before his vision cleared to see Spock going for the elder Vulcan, dagger in hand.

"Spock," Amanda said, horrified.

Whether her voice made Spock hesitate or not, Sarek deflected the knife with a kick, but was knocked away by a blow from Spock. McCoy had taken advantage of Spock's brief distraction and went for the younger Vulcan with his preferred weapon of choice, a hypospray to the Vulcan's back while Spock had his attention focused on Sarek. But before he could fully connect Spock turned on him.

McCoy saw the dagger still in his hand, and resigned himself to a shorter life, or a hospital stay at best, when Spock's eyes rolled up in his head, and he dropped from Sarek's neck pinch. With the knife still at his throat, McCoy went down with him, until Spock's hand went lax and fell away.

Jim came charging through the door to see Spock crumple to his knees and then collapse.

"What the hell is going on!" Kirk roared in a command tone.

"You all right, Sarek?" McCoy asked. He rose painfully, wincing at his sore shoulder. "Ouch."

"Quite," Sarek said. He looked down at his son. "What did you give him?"

"I tried to get a knockout in him," McCoy said. "But I think only part of it made it through before you got him down. How did you know to come?"

"Amanda had the intercom open, between this room and ours, so that she could hear him if he required anything."

"A baby monitor," McCoy said. "Right. Of course. That makes sense. Why didn't I think of that?"

Sarek straightened carefully, as if testing his own systems. Then picked Spock up and laid him back in bed. "I heard Spock threaten you. In that language. But I don't understand what led up to this confrontation."

"I suspect he was dreaming," McCoy said. "He was speaking Klingonese," he said to Jim. "He didn't know who I was." McCoy made his painful way over and ran a scanner over Spock.

"Dreaming?" Sarek said, looking from McCoy to Spock in as close to astonishment as a Vulcan can get.

"Best guess, anyway. We'll see if he's a bit more sensible when he comes to. But he's out for a bit, anyway." McCoy winced again. "And I've got to get this shoulder seen to, or I'm going to be good for nothing tomorrow. It's a little awkward to treat myself."

"I'll take you over to the Terran Medical Center," Amanda offered. "Sarek, you and Jim can keep watch over Spock."

"That'll work." McCoy said. He rotated his shoulder painfully. "Whoever said Starfleet Surgeons don't deserve combat pay never wet nursed a convalescing Vulcan."

"I'll be back in a moment," Amanda said.

"Bones, what really happened here?" Kirk asked. He was looking at the broken shelves, the scattered weapons, and Sarek's disheveled appearance.

"Spock was a little confused." McCoy eyed Sarek. "You sure you're okay, Sarek?"

"I am undamaged."

Amanda appeared in the doorway, properly dressed. "Doctor?"

"Yeah, I'm more than ready." He looked over at Sarek. "The remains of that knockout will keep him out for several hours more. He shouldn't offer you any more trouble. And if he does wake, and is still out of it, then try to give him this," McCoy laid a hypo down. "It won't hurt him. And Jim, why don't you clear those weapons out of here? The ones in the workroom too. I should have thought of that before, but heck, this house is a damn Fortress in more than name. There are weapons all over the place. But from now on, let's try and keep them out of Spock's easy reach, at least where he's sleeping."

"Bones, where are you hurt?" Kirk asked, picking up the knife Spock had dropped and checking over the blade for blood. "Did he get you?"

"No. Just bruised. He only knocked me against the wall, trying to get out the door."

"And you faced him off?" Kirk said impressed.

"Well, I didn't even **try** to get that knife away from him. I was trying to delay him long enough to talk him **awake**, so to speak. Not mix it up. He wasn't in a mood to listen though. Ouch," McCoy grimaced. "Later, Jim, I'm starting to stiffen up."

"Sure," Kirk began picking up the scattered weapons while Sarek moved a chair close enough to Spock's bedside to be able to easily subdue him.

"And I was worried he wasn't going to be able to fight," McCoy drawled, before he limped out of the room.

Within the hour, McCoy was back, moving a lot easier. Sarek was meditating, fingers steepled. Kirk had a book open on his lap. "Any change?" McCoy asked.

"He hasn't even moved, has he Sarek?" Kirk said, closing his book.

"No."

McCoy looked around. "Well. I think it's time this little slumber party broke up. I'll sit with Spock. You all can go to bed."

Sarek raised a brow at that. "You obviously could not handle Spock before, and you are injured now. You can't possibly remain alone. And you need to rest as well."

"I'll need to be here when Spock wakes," McCoy said. "There are some things we need to discuss, he and I."

"And I will stay, in case he must be subdued again." Sarek insisted.

"I'll stay, too," Kirk said stubbornly.

"Jim, I'll want you to take the day shift," McCoy said, "because once I have a morning session with him, I **am** going to bed. And Sarek will probably have to go to work. So we'll need you to trade off with us then."

"Won't be the first time I've pulled a long duty." Kirk commented.

"But it won't be necessary. And we may need to spell each other for a day or two on this. Even you at your most stubborn need to sleep. Particularly fighting this heat and gravity. Please, Jim. I don't expect him to wake now anyway, since he's still so deep out of it."

Kirk glanced at Spock, still sleeping soundly. "All right. But call me again if you need help. I'll be sleeping with one ear open." He left.

McCoy looked to Amanda. "No reason for you to lose sleep over this. I expect he'll be out till morning."

Amanda looked at Sarek. "I suppose you'll tell me it's illogical for me to remain. Except that I'm not logical. I don't want to go any more than Jim did."

Spock'll need **someone** awake tomorrow," McCoy said.

"Rest, my wife." Sarek settled back in the chair close by Spock's bedside again, while McCoy lowered himself carefully into the one under the now vacant weapon wall.

"How?" Amanda asked.

"It's all in a day's work," McCoy assured her, "when these Command types let loose. It's not the first time your son has knocked me around. Or Jim, for that matter."

Amanda walked over and wrapped her arms around Sarek from above, kissing his cheek, undeterred by McCoy's presence. "Be **careful**," she told her husband, who accepted the embrace without reacting to it. "You may be bigger than he is. But he's better trained."

Sarek did raise a brow and turn slightly at that. "Indeed? Where do you come by such a fallacious supposition?"

She snorted. "You know what I mean. He's been trained to fight. Even his **friends** say he's lethal."

"I am not concerned. Not for myself," Sarek clarified.

"What else is new?" Amanda said. "Doctor," she turned to McCoy, who was still trying to stifle his smile at her open display of affection with her oh-so-Vulcan husband. "Thank you again. But I still don't understand. You say he was **dreaming**? Through all **that**?"

Forgetting his sore shoulder, McCoy shrugged, then winced. "Well, he was speaking Klingonese. He didn't recognize me or Sarek. He wasn't really awake."

"Vulcans do not dream," Sarek commented, still regarding Spock broodingly.

"I don't believe that," McCoy argued. "Physiologically-"

"Not past mastery of the Disciplines."

"Well, I can't argue with you on those. Still, you must be familiar with the phenomenon itself, even if **you** no longer dream. Dreams are only too common a symptom of stress for humans. Or even just of weariness. Surely Amanda has had a nightmare from time to time? Walked in her sleep, perhaps, when overstressed or overtired? It's not unusual for humans."

Sarek froze at that and cut a look at Amanda.

McCoy took their arrested expressions for ones of disapprobation. "Look, I **warned** you Spock's recovery wasn't going to be a straight line thing."

Sarek seemed to mentally back away from whatever he'd been thinking. "Spock is Vulcan."

"Sarek, you must know that is an inherently illogical statement. Given that his mother is-"

"**His** physiology is Vulcan. And he has been trained in the Disciplines."

McCoy looked mulish. "Let's step outside." He jerked a thumb at Sarek.

Sarek looked down at Spock. "He is-"

"Out," McCoy ordered. When they had stepped into Spock's workroom, the door closed behind them, McCoy said, "Asleep or not, he'd hear, and perhaps subliminally be aware of anything we said. And I'm not going to get into a debate on what Spock is or isn't. Certainly not in front of him and in his condition. As a hybrid, he's a law unto himself. There can be no absolutes regarding his physiology. Or behavior. Physiology is not entirely the issue here, anyway."

"Are you suggesting Spock is not sane?" Sarek asked carefully.

"No." McCoy blew out a breath in exasperation. "Not at all. Look, it's my understanding you ferreted out much of the details through your various Federation contacts. I thought you understood. But maybe I need to be a little more blunt here. Spock was in Klingon hands for 22 days, 9 hours. During that time he was restrained, tortured, drugged, and relentlessly mindsifted. He lost a third of his body mass. He wasn't fed. Given water. **Or** allowed to sleep. Sleep deprivation torture doesn't affect Vulcans the way it does humans. But it's not entirely without effect either. Especially when combined with other," he glanced worriedly at Amanda, "persuasions. Then when Starfleet got him back, **our** security forces put him through their **own** debriefing. There are pre-conditioned cues, different for every officer, mental back doors Fleet creates for all Command officers during their Command training. They're designed to let HQ access a certain part of an officer's mind or memory. To cut through the resistance Command Training instills in their officers when they are dealing with hostile interrogation techniques. They don't always work for an officer that went through what Spock did. But fortunately he did eventually respond to his pre-set triggers. They got something of a mission debrief out of him. I can't speak to what's involved. All I can tell you is it isn't pretty. But Starfleet officers consent to that when they accept Command Training. Naturally the Intelligence group is more concerned with Starfleet and Federation security than with any particular officer. And we all have to be grateful Spock was still functional enough to respond to his training. If he hadn't, he might still be in their hands. As it is, they let him go. And when they did, **he** let go. His duty was done. You saw, when he first arrived here, how he had collapsed. Now it's my section, **Medical, ** that has to patch back together what the Klingons and Starfleet left. See if we can get something viable and functional from the remains, if not as an officer, at least as a person. Suffice to say, sleep disorders are not only to be expected, in Spock's condition, they're entirely **normal**."

"Doctor, that behavior was **not** normal for Spock," Sarek countered.

"Normal," McCoy asserted. "He is trying to sleep, to rest, to return to normal, to recover. And he's just not very good at it yet. You know he's been struggling with **that** since he got home."

"With falling asleep and nightmares, yes," Amanda said. "But not violence."

"He wasn't that violent."

"Doctor!" Amanda said.

"He's a Fleet officer. Every day of his life, at least of the last eighteen years, he's worked out. He and Jim routinely spar. What looks like violence to you, on peaceful Vulcan, doesn't look quite so bad to me."

"He had a knife at your throat," Sarek said.

"Well, that was partially my fault," McCoy said. "And I apologize. It was damn foolish of me, especially now that he's getting stronger, to allow weapons to be available anywhere within reach of him, particularly where he might be sleeping." McCoy looked around, noting the workroom, too had been cleared of any dangerous items. "But I see Jim has addressed that."

"It is not for you to apologize for Spock's behavior. And he doesn't need a weapon, Doctor, to do damage," Sarek said gravely. "He is lethal, as you say, bare handed. And if he so chooses, any number of otherwise innocuous things can also serve as weapons."

"He was just confused, Sarek."

"He was murderously violent."

McCoy looked at them evaluatingly again. "Maybe this is too hard for you. There are Fleet facilities that specialize in handling this sort of recovery. I don't know they'd be all that good for Spock. There are no Vulcan specialists there for one thing. And they don't know him. But they **do** understand this sort of trauma."

"No," Amanda said. "We want him here. Don't we, Sarek?"

"I don't wish to risk your being injured," Sarek said to her. "If Spock should ...sleepwalk...as you so innocuously describe it again," he said to McCoy, "and react violently, his mother certainly would have no defenses against him. Can I risk that?"

"He **won't**," Amanda said. "Not with me. And you've already proven you can handle him. Especially if he can't get to a weapon."

"Amanda, that is wishful thinking," Sarek countered.

"He had all the time he needed to kill me. To give you a lethal wound too. And he didn't. I don't think he was out for blood. In the morning, he and I will talk out what happened." McCoy said. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if he draws a tidy blank. Doesn't remember," he said with Sarek's exasperated frown at the colloquialism. "And has no effects at all besides a sore shoulder and an upset stomach from my drugs. And a guilty conscience, though I'll try to dissuade him from too much of that as being unproductive."

"That does not address my concerns."

"Sarek!" Amanda said.

"Spock certainly would not forgive me, if I allowed him to injure you," Sarek said to her. "Once in his right mind, the knowledge would destroy him. I can't risk it."

"That's my decision as well, isn't it?" Amanda snapped. "Stop being so patriarchal."

"I know this looked bad. But I think you are making more of this than you should," McCoy temporized. "This may be only a temporary phase."

"May be?" Amanda asked.

"We know now how to deal with post traumatic stress disorders. Now that Spock has actually gotten to the point where he is reacting to his experiences, we can get him past them."

"Doctor, he could very well have killed you. Or his mother."

"But he didn't. And now we'll be ready for this."

Sarek shook his head at that.

McCoy sighed. "As phases go, I don't think this one will last long. It's possible, yes. But not common. I don't think it's very likely with Spock. And I don't want him moved now. That could be very bad for him. If it really doesn't resolve itself, then of course we'll explore other options then. Right now," McCoy pointed his thumb back in the door, "I don't want him left alone."

"Sarek, he's not going **anywhere**," Amanda said.

Sarek gave her a dark look. "As Dr. McCoy says," Sarek palmed the door to Spock's bedroom, "we'll discuss it in the morning."

_To be continued..._


	25. Chapter 25

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 25**

The next morning, Spock came down to breakfast. All by himself.

"Spock," Amanda hid her surprise. When Sarek half rose, as if preparing to stand between Spock and her, in a misguided attempt to protect her, she kicked him under the table and then gave him a definite if surreptitious elbow in the ribs. "I thought Dr. McCoy was with you," she asked her son. "And Captain Kirk," she added, because Jim had come to Spock's room to relieve Sarek and take the 'morning shift' only a short while before.

"Dr. McCoy is still sleeping," Spock said. He looked from his mother to Sarek back to Amanda again, seeming not to notice anything amiss in his parent's expressions. His manner was as calm and matter of fact as if the previous night's incident hadn't happened. For him, it didn't seem to have. His eyes had moved to the food as he seated himself at the table.

Captain Kirk came into the breakfast room. "Sorry," he said, interpreting Sarek's arrested expression. "Was halfway down the stairs and then thought I'd better leave McCoy a quick note. He's still fast asleep."

"Well, we should let him sleep," Amanda said. "He can breakfast later."

"Right," Kirk slid into a seat next to Spock. "But Spock," he grinned at his First Officer, clearly tickled that Spock was mobile and functional, "wanted breakfast now."

"If you remember, he said I could come down to breakfast this morning if I had no fever," Spock said simply. "I have no fever."

"I do remember that," Amanda said. She gave Sarek's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm so pleased. How are you feeling otherwise this morning, Spock?"

"I'm hungry," Spock said, and with that understatement, he addressed himself to breakfast under his parents' wondering eyes. In spite of Vulcan control, Sarek straightened just a bit and even Kirk grew slightly more alert as Spock picked up a knife. But the Vulcan had no more ulterior motive than to spread jam on some toast. He was taking his first bite as McCoy came in the room, rumpled, unshaven, and rubbing his eyes.

"I tried not to wake you, Bones," Kirk apologized.

"You didn't, in the room. I heard you thundering down the stairs like a herd of elephants. Figured if someone was running, my services might be required. Guess not." McCoy sank into a seat. "Sorry," he said, eyes on Sarek. "Must have dozed off." His eyes scanned the table. "I know you all drink tea in this house, but I could **surely** use a cup of coffee."

"They're making some for me, Bones," Kirk said. "I'll get you some."

But T'Jar came in, and poured them both a cup.

McCoy took a sip and inhaled the steam gratefully. "Ah," he said. He eyed Spock across the table, who was eating with the absorbed self interest of someone who wasn't thinking of much else but food. "How did you sleep, Spock?" he asked mildly.

"I slept," Spock said, with Vulcan disinterest in that prosaic phenomenon.

"And how do you feel?"

Spock gave him a disapproving Vulcan glance at that very human question. "I am hungry."

"He's **very** hungry," Kirk qualified with a half smile, and a shrug, and snagged himself some breakfast. "Sorry again, Bones. I thought closing the door might wake you, so I left it open. Didn't think about the echo on the stairs."

"Never mind, Jim. Time for me to be up. "So, you're hungry," McCoy eyed Spock. "H'mph. I s'pose you are. You prob'ly didn't eat much lunch yesterday," McCoy muttered musingly to himself as he sipped his coffee. "What with having guests, and coming downstairs for the first time. Spent that long afternoon in the gardens. I bet you didn't stay hydrated enough, out there in the Vulcan heat, and you not acclimated. And then, you conked out. Never had any dinner either." McCoy suddenly slapped his forehead, causing everyone, sans Spock, to look at him. "Of course! You were hungry. I," McCoy announced to the table, "am a damn fool."

"You have claimed that before," Spock noted. "Frequently."

"But it is oh, so appropriate at the moment, Spock."

Everyone looked from McCoy to Spock back to McCoy. Feeling all eyes center on him, the younger Vulcan stopped chewing, and looked around. "What?" he asked, uneasily. "Did I -"

"A **damn** fool," McCoy interrupted him. "They ought to revoke my license. You didn't do **anything**, Spock," McCoy said, with sudden reassurance. "Your doctor didn't do **his** job. Uh-uh." He said, when Spock put down his fork. "You finish that breakfast. And henceforth, your days of going to bed without supper are over."

Spock's brows hooded as he stared at McCoy, then he turned to his Captain. "How can someone with advanced degrees speak so illogically?"

"Don't worry about it, Spock," Kirk said, grinning. "He does occasionally makes sense."

"Thank you very much, Jim," McCoy said, and took another gulp of coffee, and let out a relieved sigh. "Well. So much for **that**!"

"Nor do **I** understand," said Sarek, looking around at the human's relieved grins. Long used to McCoy's illogical expostulations, Spock had returned to his breakfast.

"Can it really be that simple?" Amanda asked, looking hopefully from Spock to McCoy to Sarek.

McCoy snagged himself a muffin and some fruit, nodding prosaically. "It can indeed. Gen'rally is. These things are rarely complicated. And Spock's not a complicated sort of creature at all, are you?" he said archly to the Vulcan. "It's only your **doctor** that sometimes has trouble putting two and two together."

Spock gave McCoy a chary look, but didn't seem to regard McCoy's comments as anything enough out of the usual to be put off his food. "I believe I have occasionally expressed that opinion."

"And you were so right, Commander."

"I don't understand you," Spock said to McCoy, refusing to rise to what probably appeared to him to be a typical McCoy baiting. "And I don't think I care to."

"And I don't think you need to," McCoy surmised, watching as Spock went back to plowing through a bowl of cereal and fruit. He shook his head in amazement. "I don't think you need to at all. Not the way you're tucking in." He ate a few bites of muffin, finished his coffee and sighing, rose. "And now that **that** is settled, I believe I'm going back to bed."

"You don't want to talk to Spock this morning?" Kirk asked, half pleased, half worried.

McCoy eyed Spock again, who paused to look up at him, mid-chew. "Nope. You get the morning off, Commander. For time served and good behavior." He turned to Jim. "You two try and do something fun this morning. Not too exhausting, mind you. But fun. "And **you**," he turned to Spock, "eat a mid-morning snack. Drink a full glass of juice with it. No tea. And then eat lunch too. That's a medical order. So don't give me any backchat. Say, 'Yes, Doctor' like a good Vulcan. And then do it."

Spock glanced at Jim, raising a brow fractionally, as if questioning whether he should humor McCoy in this insanity. His captain nodded, not succeeding in entirely swallowing a grin.

"Yes, Doctor." Spock said, long suffering, but compliant.

"That's what I like to hear. See how nicely that works out?" McCoy said. "And you be prepared to take a nap after lunch too. Because I understand we're having dinner with your Grandmother this evening. And I don't want you over-tired." McCoy met Sarek's eyes with a pointed look, then addressed the rest of the table. "Have a good morning, everyone. I'm back off to bed." He waved himself out of the room.

Sarek met him outside.

"Not here," McCoy said.

"We can meet in my office."

Amanda came out of the breakfast room, closing the door behind her. "You're not leaving **me** out of this."

With the door to Sarek's office closed behind them, Sarek looked at McCoy, uncomprehending. "Perhaps I am **not** an uncomplicated individual. Because I still do not understand."

"He was overtired, starving, dehydrated by yesterday evening. It triggered a bad dream that he was back in Klingon hands. And then he had trouble waking up, separating himself out of that nightmare. That's all it was." McCoy sank into a chair. "But you can see he's fine this morning. And with rest and food and reasonable care on our part, he won't hit that state again. At least, not until he has put a little distance and healing between himself and that experience. Then those conditions shouldn't trigger that reaction. And he'll be past it."

Sarek was quiet a moment, thinking that through. No doubt comparing McCoy's statement to Spock's behavior the night before. He shook his head fractionally. "You cannot seriously believe it is that simple."

McCoy sighed, and scratched his unshaven jaw. In his rumpled state, he knew he probably didn't look like any kind of medical authority. "Sarek, with all due respect to my colleagues who might like to exaggerate the difficulty of the medical profession, and puff themselves up thereby, most of the time, these things **are** simple. Your son has a rather unique physiology, and an admittedly somewhat troubled past. But speaking as a shrink, he wouldn't have gotten within a whisper of Starship Command if he hadn't tested out normal enough."

"It is the issues resulting from his recent captivity that concern me."

"But that incident was essentially physiological," McCoy argued. "All that's required there is groceries. And rest. We can deal with that by making sure that he doesn't skip supper. Taking a nap in the afternoon couldn't hurt either, if he's gotten overtired."

Amanda let out a relieved sigh. "Well, that's easy enough."

Sarek was clearly remembering Spock as he had been last night. "I am at a loss to understand how such a…prosaic solution…can remedy or prevent such an incident."

"Maybe so. But I'm the one with the medical degree. And I'm satisfied with my assessment."

"And you're not prepared to discuss his behavior last night with him?" Sarek persisted, still puzzled. "You planned to do that this morning."

"I may have changed my mind on that."

Sarek eyed him. "You have… changed your mind." He said the human phrase as if to underline its capricious inadequacy.

Amanda tilted her head, dismayed at this. "Oh, Sarek-"

McCoy put out a hand to forestall her. "Sarek, unlike physics, medicine is not an exact science. Spock doesn't remember. He seems well enough this morning. At this point, I'm not sure it would be good for him to address that now."

"Doctor, even if he failed to notice the absence of his belongings from his room in his state of...hunger, he will eventually come to notice that something adverse had occurred."

"I may tell him that I had them removed because he had a bad dream. Which it essentially was. It may be best if that's all he remembers it as being, if he comes to recall it at all."

"So now you are prepared to lie to him?"

"Not lie, exactly. Just not tell him everything. I don't know that it would be good for him." McCoy raised a brow and drew a little verbal knife of his own. "Surely a Federation ambassador is familiar with not telling the whole truth."

Sarek regarded McCoy coldly. "There's no need to be insulting, Doctor."

"I'm not trying to insult you. I just don't want to shake your son's confidence. Particularly since he's looking well this morning. You must know that he never eats anything when he's upset. Even when he is starving. That he has an appetite is a good sign for him. Why would you want to distress him?"

Sarek drew up at that. "I have no wish to **distress** him," he said the English word as if it were entirely foreign to him. "But I don't see how he can recover, if those around him are lying to him regarding his condition."

"I'm not lying to him. I'm giving him a chance to catch his breath."

"I don't understand."

"Have you never had a moment's doubt, a need to regroup, to reassess your own-" McCoy paused, looked at the elder Vulcan's unvarying expression. "You don't understand what I'm talking about, do you?" McCoy looked from Sarek to Amanda. "Does he?"

Amanda let out a frustrated breath, "It's not generally a mindset with which he's familiar."

"Is this normal for Vulcans?" McCoy asked her. "I mean, Spock can be hardheaded, but he's never, well rarely, so completely unyielding."

"I don't know if it is normal for Vulcans," Amanda said, regarding her husband, "but it can be normal for Sarek."

"I am trying to understand," Sarek said. "And this is not an unimportant issue, with unimportant consequences."

"Let me think of an analogy that might work for you. And don't tell me argument by analogy is invalid," McCoy added. "If I tied you up until your muscles atrophied, you couldn't leap up once freed and win a race against someone one in superb physical condition, could you?"

"No. But if my physician told me that I was in that same condition, perhaps, if I knew no better, I might be encouraged to attempt the race." Sarek looked from one to the other. "By your own analogy, I don't see how allowing Spock to remain in ignorance of his condition can help him even to function, much less recover. Vulcans do not **dream**. Spock learned those disciplines long ago. Whatever conclusions you are drawing fail to take that fact into account."

McCoy set his teeth. "I should warn you, Sarek, that I'm even less good with ultra-Vulcans than Spock is with Klingons. And while I don't use a knife, I've been known to go for the throat verbally, as your son can attest. And in other ways being less than a credit to my profession."

"Indeed, Doctor. If Spock also finds it this impossible to obtain enough data from you to reach a conclusion in areas where your expertise must be consulted, then I have some slight understanding of what his difficulties must have been in Starfleet."

"What conclusion are you trying to reach, Sarek?"

Sarek looked at Amanda, and then shook his head fractionally. "I don't want him to hold a knife to anyone's throat. Or otherwise harm another, asleep or awake."

"I don't think he will. With a little care, it's unlikely."

"I still fail to understand how you have reached that conclusion."

"He didn't harm anyone last night."

"Doctor, **you** required medical attention."

"He knocked me against a wall. That's nothing. He had a knife to my throat, **twice**, and he never even scratched my skin. And Sarek, Spock **knows** how to use a knife." He ignored the fractional, ambiguous look that crossed the elder Vulcan's face. "He was trying to escape, not kill. And he wasn't really tracking, trying hard to do that. He was confused. I think he was subliminally aware, even asleep, that it was a dream."

"I don't see how you can extrapolate from his behavior this morning that he is no longer a danger, even if only to himself. My concerns are unalleviated."

"It's been my job, since I first joined the Enterprise, to learn Spock pretty well. Second only to learning Jim pretty well. That's part of what I'm paid to do, keeping the command officers functional. Getting them back to functionality when the fates batter them around. I think he's getting there."

"I see," Sarek said. His eyes had narrowed and he sounded even more displeased. "Given your pleasure at these events, are you now prepared to reinstate him to Starfleet?"

"Whoa," McCoy shook his head at that, eyes widening. "That's too quick a conclusion."

"Your prior conclusion is equally as illogical to me," Sarek said testily.

"A whole different set of requirements is involved there. It takes something very special to command a Starship. Some of that depends on how well his shields recover. And ultimately, what he wants to do. When he's in a little better shape, he and I will talk about that."

"Sarek, **I'm** satisfied with Dr. McCoy's assessment," Amanda said.

Sarek just looked down at her. "Indeed." His voice was so cold McCoy shivered.

"Clearly you are not. What do **you** want, Sarek?" McCoy asked.

"I wish Spock to be treated on a basis of knowledge, not…hunches. I want him treated in a manner that preserves his knowledge of the disciplines that he worked so intensively to master. I want him protected as he does so. Not sacrificed to Starfleet expediencies."

McCoy drew up at that. "Expediencies!"

"Unlike you or Captain Kirk, who clearly also appears pleased with his behavior, I **don't** regard my son attacking his physician with an ancient Vulcan relic as a positive sign. In fact, the notion that this is considered progress, of **any** sort, makes me question even what attempts I have made to ever reconcile his presence in Starfleet."

"Dammit, Sir! You wait just a minute there!" McCoy snapped, his own lack of sleep short-circuiting his temper. "Starfleet's treated Spock **well**," McCoy said. "**Very** well. He was given Command training within months of entering the Academy. And they don't hand that out as a political sinecure to ambassador's sons. Chris Pike was his captain for eleven years. Believe me, Spock could have had no better command officer to have mentored him. And Jim is already legendary. He moved heaven and earth to extract Spock from enemy hands. Jim loves Spock like a brother. And Spock's risked his life repeatedly for both. Regards Jim as a friend. And to Pike, Spock was practically a-"

"Do not say it," Sarek warned him.

"Maybe part of this is jealousy," McCoy needled. "Lack of control. Not just by Spock, but by your expectations for Spock. Fleet's certainly looked after Spock better than **you** have these last eighteen years, Ambassador."

"That's **enough**, both of you!" Amanda snapped. "You're both behaving worse than Spock. He at least has a **reason** for his lack of control."

The martial light went out of McCoy's eyes, and Sarek turned away, to look out over the precise patterns of the formal Vulcan gardens outside his office windows, his shoulders rigid.

"Sorry, Sarek," McCoy said. "And to you too, Amanda." McCoy had colored. "I guess I am a bit short on sleep and short of temper. That's not any way for a guest to behave in your home. Forgive me."

"Of course," Amanda said. "This is difficult for everyone. Sarek?"

When Sarek didn't answer, his shoulder's still rigidly turned away, McCoy said to him. "Look, I admit I know very little about Vulcan disciplines. And I'll confess - Spock's probably also told Amanda this, in his letters home, telling tales out of school - I have not expressed a lot of regard for what little I do know. Far rather the reverse. But I promise to listen now, Sarek, without flying off the handle. And we'll try to deal with it."

Sarek glared at the physician over his shoulder, still not entirely turning. "I did not raise my son, guide him and train him so that a human could tell me - with pride - that he had learn to defend himself with a knife," Sarek said darkly. "As if he would **need** one. Do not expect me to regard his behavior as any kind of accomplishment or sign of recovery."

"Even if I think it might be?" McCoy asked gently.

Sarek shook his head, human style. "None of this, your treatment, your assessments, your expectations, your signs of progress, is in league with any of Spock's training. I am becoming increasingly convinced that it can't, that it **will** fail to assist him."

McCoy sighed. "I know you don't want to hear this. But Spock went through a different kind of training, a military training, for as long as or longer than you trained him in Vulcan ways. That **doesn't** mean he's abandoned your teachings. But he may have...opened himself up to other ways."

"I don't believe that is suitable for Spock. Vulcan control exists for a **reason**, Doctor. It is not an affectation."

"What do **you** think is suitable?"

"I'd prefer a healer's opinion. Not out of any disparagement to your ways, Doctor. But because your methodology and your conclusions are so at variance with mine. And Spock is Vulcan," he looked at Amanda a moment, "as well as human," he concluded. "It is not only human behavioral analysis that should be employed. He must be returned to functioning within Vulcan society."

"I don't have a problem with that," McCoy said. "Provided they keep confidentiality with me until I deem Spock is ready to hear about that incident. I **have** been consulting them. They backed off, because his mental shields were not in shape for their methods."

"It is time then for a reassessment."

"All right. Sure. But you haven't really answered my question. What do **you** want as regards Spock?"

Sarek turned sharply to McCoy at that. "Do not presume to know **me**, Doctor."

"I **have** to know," McCoy argued. "If I am going to treat Spock. I thought I knew Vulcan and Vulcans, enough for this. But I'll admit I don't understand you any more than you understand me. For Spock's sake, we both have to work together."

Sarek turned away, to stare at the gardens again.

"Just say it, Sarek," McCoy said, impatiently. "The world won't end."

"I find it very difficult, Doctor. To consider accepting his return to Starfleet. I have tried, for his mother's sake, and even, though I disagree mightily, in theory for his own, that he may do so." Sarek turned back to McCoy. "He was not destined for Starfleet's barbaric ways. It is time for him to return fully to his heritage. To correct the …mistakes…of the past." Sarek regarded McCoy's non-plussed expression. "You wished to know."

"What if he chooses to return?"

"I believe I must dissuade him from attempting such."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"I'm aware of that," Sarek said evenly. "As you said, you are paid by Starfleet to return him to his duties there."

"I didn't quite say that," McCoy said, bridling. "And I choose to ignore the less than flattering implications of that statement."

"You said it first, Doctor."

"You're right, Sarek," McCoy said, flaring again. "I **am** paid by Starfleet to get Spock back on that bridge. That doesn't mean my patient's needs don't come first."

"Nor would I see him remain on Vulcan, purely for my own …personal… reasons," Sarek replied with silky intent.

"I can't believe," Amanda interjected, riding over their changed mood with the subtlety of a Tellerite at a diplomatic reception, "that of all the people in this house, Spock, his emotional human mother, and for all love, Jim Kirk, are the **sanest** right now. If you two don't stop this, right **now**, you are going to see an emotional reaction from **me** that will make how **Spock** behaved last night look like a diplomatic reception. And I won't need a knife either. So knock it **off**. Both of you."

"I think she means it," McCoy said with a sheepish grin.

"She generally does."

"**Behave**," Amanda ordered. She looked at her husband. "Sarek. I've never asked for much from you. But you **owe** me. And you know what I mean. And I'm **collecting**. **Now**."

For a long, long moment Sarek looked at her. McCoy wondered what he was thinking. His face was, once again, inscrutable.

"Sarek," Amanda said softly, no longer angry. "Please."

"I will reserve judgment," Sarek said as if making a great concession. "And for the moment, Doctor, I will accept your assessment. Provided Spock's healers in conjunction concur."

"Thank you," Amanda said, and uncaring of their human audience, went and kissed her husband on the cheek.

"I'll arrange for the Healers to attend him tomorrow," McCoy said, swallowing his catbird smile.

"Why not today?" Sarek frowned, his fingers now intertwined with his wife's.

"Too much for one day," McCoy said. "I may be only a human, but I don't generally repeat past mistakes." He turned to Amanda, all business now. "When's this dinner?"

"Well," Amanda temporized, looking from Sarek to McCoy as if she were having trouble switching gears. "T'Pau eats late. Not till sundown."

"Definitely he needs a nap then. And maybe a late afternoon tea." McCoy scratched his stubbled jaw again, considering rapid fire. "What about his relationship with T'Pau? How stressful is it going to be for him to see her, meet with her?"

Amanda blinked, startled by this rapid fire questioning. "They're actually very close."

"Good again." McCoy looked from one to the other, eyes narrowed. "Some rules: No family fights at the dinner table. No raising of old issues. That's an absolute. You remember your promise, Sarek. And you," he pointed a finger at Amanda, "Lay down the law with T'Pau. Agreed?"

"Yes," Amanda said, with a meaningful look at her husband. Sarek simply raised a brow.

McCoy rubbed his hands together. "I'm looking forward to it already," he grinned. "Nothing like a little informal family dinner with T'Pau of Vulcan."

Amanda half smiled at that. "You're incorrigible, Doctor."

"I assure you, it will not be **that** informal," Sarek said.

"I'm sure it will be fascinating. One of the odd perks of Starfleet service is that you do get the occasional unexpected opportunity," McCoy said. "It wouldn't be human of me if I didn't find the prospect, and the irony, enjoyable. And if we keep it light," McCoy added, half in warning, "it should be very good for Spock, too."

Sarek seemed to relent at last. "In that at least, Doctor McCoy," the Vulcan said, "we concur."

_To be continued…_


	26. Chapter 26

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 26**

Kirk wasn't the slightest bit worried when Sarek and Amanda followed McCoy out of the breakfast room. As far as he was concerned, what Spock's parents did, or even McCoy, was incidental now to the ultimate issue of Spock's recovery and reinstatement. With Spock mobile, on his feet, fighting back, Kirk just knew he'd be back on the bridge by the end of their leave. Maybe sooner.

With that, and spurred on by Spock's healthy hunger, he filled his own plate with a renewed appetite of his own. One thing about the side effects of the last mission, Spock wasn't the only one who'd lost weight. For once, Kirk didn't have McCoy on his back, restricting him to salads. And Spock's parents certainly set a fine table, which up till now, he'd felt unable to truly enjoy. For the first time since he'd arrived, he ate with real appetite, same as Spock.

He was having a second cup of coffee, while Spock was peeling an orange, when McCoy stuck his head in. "Don't forget what I told you, Spock. And I want you to take a nap after lunch."

"Vulcans do not 'nap'." Spock countered with lofty self-possession.

McCoy snorted at that. "This Vulcan will," he told him.

"I will **rest** after lunch," Spock clarified.

"Call it what you want," McCoy said, unimpressed with Vulcan hairsplitting. "So long as you **do** it." He looked from Spock to Kirk. "Have you two decided yet what you're going to do?"

"Well," Kirk said with a gleam in his eye. "There **is **Spock's new flyer. Sure would be a shame to let it gather dust in the hangar yet another day. Pretty thing like that **needs** to be flown. We could take it out to the _Enterprise_, check out her refit together."

"Uh," McCoy looked iffy. "I don't know that Spock is up to a lot of wild antics."

"He doesn't have to fly it all on his own. I make an excellent co-pilot. Or even pilot," Kirk said suggestively.

"Tell that to Amanda's breakfast dishes. Anyway, I'd rather you avoided high-altitude unshielded flying today. And skipped any warp tests," McCoy decreed.

"Bones, you told us to have fun," Kirk said, making a face, "and now you take it all away. You're just a killjoy. Right, Spock?" He looked across at his First Officer, and the grin left his face when he saw Spock's frown of confusion.

"I don't know what you mean, Captain," Spock said, shaking his head, mystified. "I don't have a warp flyer."

"Sure you do," Kirk blinked. "The one that came yesterday. And in view of that, Bones," Kirk argued turning to McCoy. "It wouldn't have been logical for his parents to **give** him a warp flyer and not expect him to **use** it."

Spock's brow wrinkled. "You are mistaken, Captain. It is **Sarek **who has the warp flyer."

"No," Kirk countered, turning back to Spock with a frown. "A new flyer was delivered for you yesterday. **You **remember, Spock," Kirk said pointedly. "Sanjean admired it."

Spock glanced from Kirk to McCoy, and sat back a little, still looking at a loss. The orange slice had slipped from his fingers.

"Just yesterday afternoon," Kirk persisted, his eyes narrowing. "All your guests crowded around and admired it. Sarek was there too. You talked to him about it. You remember now, don't you, Spock?"

Spock put a hand to his forehead. "No," he said, more as if he were rejecting the question than denying it.

"Jim, back off," McCoy warned. "You're pushing." Sarek came in behind McCoy, apparently in pursuit of his interrupted breakfast, and McCoy stepped aside automatically for him. Sarek looked from McCoy's worried face to Kirk's determined one, to Spock's rapid loss of countenance.

But Kirk had frowned in puzzlement. "But of course he remembers. It was just yesterday." He turned back to Spock. "You said then, that it wasn't your flyer, but then Sarek told you it was a gift from your mother," Kirk insisted. "Right, Sarek? You remember **now**, don't you, Spock?"

Spock put his fingers to his temples. After a moment, he shivered.

"**Jim**!" McCoy warned, and when Kirk looked back at McCoy, the physician raked a thumb across his throat in a surreptitious cut sign.

"_Pas devant les etrangers." _Spock murmured under his breath. He looked up briefly at Sarek, his eyes sheeted. Not tracking. _"Pas devant-"_

"Jim, **out**," McCoy ordered. "Sarek, sit with him for a minute. **Don't** ask him any questions."

McCoy resisted the impulse to slam the breakfast door behind Jim and himself. "What the hell's with you, Jim? What was the first rule I gave you? There shouldn't be anything wrong with **your** memory, right? No damn questions!"

"That wasn't a **real** question," Kirk countered, shaken himself.

"No matter how innocuous you think them! And why did you ignore my signals? Particularly if he folds up like that. Don't **push**."

"It didn't have anything to do with the mission. And it was just **yesterday**, Bones."

"Jim!"

"I didn't think," Kirk said, looking simultaneously vexed and shamefaced.

McCoy shook his head. "I hope you didn't just set him back. Next time, remember." He went back into the room. Sarek glanced up at them. True to McCoy's order, he had asked no questions. Spock still had his fingers to his temples, but he looked up when McCoy and Kirk entered. He seemed a little calmer, with Sarek having projected an air of neutrality.

"Sorry, Spock," Kirk said. "I wasn't thinking."

"I do remember," Spock said as if seeking to appease, glancing from Kirk to Sarek. "_Pas devant les estrangers._"

"What-" Kirk remembered McCoy's stricture on questions and swallowed his words.

McCoy, who had more of a background in romance languages, and who once had a socialite wife, was more familiar with this particular French phrase. "It means not in front of strangers." He looked, didn't ask, a question of the two Vulcans.

Spock chose to answer. "When I asked about the craft before Sanjean and the others," Spock said. "Sarek," he glanced at the elder Vulcan as if reproved and corrected himself, "My father told me that. I remember. I remember **now**," he qualified. He looked at Kirk. "I regret having distressed you, Captain."

It was Kirk's turn to look uneasy. "But…but I **don't** remember Sarek saying that." Kirk glanced from Sarek to McCoy. "And I was right there with both of you."

Sarek had been listening, his head lowered, and now he shook his head, sighing slightly. "Because I did not **say** it, Captain." He looked over to Spock's confused expression.

"But-" Spock began, and then paused, uncertain.

"I did not say it," Sarek repeated gently, his equally troubled gaze resting on his son. "I **thought **it."

Spock shuddered and put his fingers to his temples again. "Please don't," he said, faintly, though who he was saying it to was unclear.

"Spock," McCoy said, his voice calm. "It's all right. Your shields just slipped. You'll soon get a handle on that problem." The physician darted a glare at Sarek, as if to forestall any quoting of odds or dire predictions. "I think it's time for you and Jim to move a little. Go out in the garden. Take that flyer out. Just don't wrap yourselves around a mountain, or do some other dare-devil stunt. And today, stay in the atmosphere. Go on, Jim." He looked at Kirk, who nodded and ushered Spock out.

"Well," McCoy said, sitting down across from Sarek. "How bad is **that**?" he didn't sound as if he particularly wanted to know.

"Not good."

"It can be addressed though," McCoy persisted, more out of expectation than knowledge.

Sarek didn't answer for a long moment. "I am not a particularly gifted telepath," Sarek finally said. "Which is not a disadvantage in my profession. Only healers require extreme psi sensitivity. And my shields are quite strong."

"And Spock?" McCoy said, when Sarek did not continue.

"He has always had more latent ability. His first parental bond was entirely inadequate to shield him based on my execution of it alone. It had to be strengthened by a healer. Or he would have suffered damage to his psi skills."

"You mean a parental bond provides psi shielding to a child?" McCoy asked.

Sarek nodded absently, still remote and removed. "Until a child masters the ability on his own."

"I didn't know that," McCoy mused. "Well then," he added. "You still have a bond with him."

Sarek did glance at McCoy then, as if astonished. "As a child matures, he learns to barrier against it. As he learns, he requires parental shielding less. Spock became facile at that, long before it was appropriate. I haven't had a fully functional parental bond with Spock for...many years. Before he left for Starfleet," he qualified, when he realized McCoy was going to ask anyway.

"So you couldn't help him now?"

Sarek looked at McCoy as if he had suggested something improper. "There's very little of even the remnants of that between Spock and myself, especially given our estrangement. A new bond would have to be carefully trapped and reconstructed by a gifted healer. Such things are rarely done between parents and adult children. It would be very difficult for Spock. As well as for me. It might help him. But I certainly believe he would find it…constricting. It may be that his mind can't handle that option. It could help or hurt. I don't know."

"Every day here, I learn something new about Vulcans. And Spock. And most of it, I'm not too comfortable learning."

"Let us hope the healers can assist him in restoring his shields, Doctor," Sarek said. "Because if they cannot, his ability to move freely in **any** society will be extremely limited."

"How rare is it, that a Vulcan's shields are damaged like Spock's have been?"

"I have never heard of a similar case, not in recent history. But I am not a Healer. In ancient times, it was sometimes used as a method of attack, for enemies to kidnap and overcontrol the shields of a rival clan's heir. They may have some knowledge based on that."

McCoy let out a breath of dismay. "Damn."

xxx

"Good for you to go out today, sir," a guard said to Kirk in the usual prison-guard whisper as he closed the gate behind Spock and himself. "**They'll** be here soon."

"Thanks," Kirk said. "Who are they?" he asked Spock when he thought they were out of the Vulcan's hearing.

"Who is who?" Spock asked.

Kirk hesitated, and then shrugged and gave it up, as Spock's ship came into his view. "Isn't she a beauty," he said admiringly.

Amanda canted her head out from where she was loading something in her flyer's cargo area. "How rare it is to hear that phrase on Vulcan. And how ironic that I am perfectly sure it is directed to a ship."

Kirk had to laugh, even though he still wasn't quite sure Amanda was on his side. "Guilty as charged."

"Probably smart of you to go out today," Amanda said. "You'll miss them."

"That's what the guards just said. Who the hel- heck," Kirk amended, "are **them**?"

"They," Amanda corrected absently.

"The tourists, I suppose," Spock answered for her. "I thought they only came once a week."

"You let tourists go through your **house**?" Kirk said, shocked that privacy conscious Vulcans would allow such a thing.

"Oh, no!" Amanda said, appalled at that. "Only the gardens."

"Right," Kirk said dryly, still amazed.

"Part of the gardens." To Spock, she said, "The Federation raised taxes again, so we **had** to up it to twice. Though your father was not pleased." Amanda grinned cheerfully. "We raised the price as well. Extort ten credits out of them."

"Scandalous," Spock commented.

"But we do give them a little gratis gift of a few flowers or some fruit or vegetables," Amanda said. "It's not a **bad** deal really – less than they'd cost in commerce on Vulcan. We get some repeat customers just for the free gifts. Especially in raspberry season. Then they're lined up so, we have to cut off the tickets after a set number."

"Grow more raspberries," Spock suggested.

"That's what I said and your father agreed to terraform a few more acres. But he then he balked at letting in more tourists. If you ask me, I think he just wanted an excuse to eat more raspberries himself."

"I like raspberries, too," Spock said thoughtfully, while absently regarding his new flyer. "Do we have any now?"

"You just ate breakfast," Kirk said, amused.

"The next crop won't be ripe for a couple of weeks," Amanda said. "But we probably have some in stasis. I'll ask T'Rueth." She turned her gaze to the new flyer as well, and shook her head, patting its sleek lines, but looking a little worried. "It **is** pretty, as Jim says. But you two be **careful** with it."

Kirk turned to Spock and pulled a face. "We'll try not to scratch it," he said, a bit testily.

"I mean, naturally it's Vulcan built. The quality control **will** be excellent," Amanda continued, so caught up on her own musings she had missed Kirk's tone. "But any new device can suffer infant mortality. I'm almost sorry I told your father to do this. I hate new flyers. Though I'm sure T'Linn had it **triple**-checked. She knows I'll **murder** her if anything happened to you. But in spite of Vulcan quality control, it **is** just off the lines, brand new. So give it – what do you Fleet types call it?" She turned to Kirk, brow furrowed.

"A shakedown," Kirk said, finally understanding her.

"Right. A trial run. **Please** try it out first close to home before warping off to the Neutral Zone to do battle with Romulans. Though it doesn't have any offensive weapons. Nothing but a few targeting phasers and things, for bumping space debris out of the way."

"Hey," Kirk brightened, intrigued. "That sounds like fun."

"Don't get too cocky," Amanda warned him. "They're low power. Not up to _Enterprise_ strength. If you **really** want to make me happy, do a trial run in the patrolled lanes in the atmosphere, first. Though I'm **sure** it's all right. If it has so much as a screen flicker, bring it right back. And I can promise you in that instance that even a pre-Reform Vulcan hath no fury like me."

"We'll be careful," Kirk said, with a grin. "Mom."

She smiled a bit grimly, but looked at their bare hands. "Oh, for goodness **sakes**. I just told you it's **new**. **Empty**. Spock you can't go flying off without so much as a liter of water in it."

"I've never carried any before." Spock said, unmoved.

"No doubt. Your father used to be the same way. But Jim is human. You can't expect **him** to live off the desert if you run into trouble. And even Sarek carries gear since we got stranded in a war zone in winter after that failed diplomatic mission. We discovered firsthand how hard it really is to live off the land without a few simple things." She shook her head, and opening the cargo hatch of her flyer, rummaged around before pulling out a camping style backpack, with a compression packed sleeping bag and mat strapped below it. Kirk took it from her, and his eyes widened as he felt its weight. "What's in here?"

"Oh," Amanda's voice was muffled as she continued to rummage around. "Water for three days. A little bit of food. And useful stuff. Survival gear. You won't need it. You had better **not** need it. But I'll feel a lot better if you **have** it."

"We do new planetfalls with less gear," Kirk said, hefting the pack in his arms.

Amanda turned her head back to him, shoulders still bent into the compartment, her eyes narrowed at that telling admission. "Too much information, Jim," she warned him ominously.

"Unh, right," Kirk said, swallowing the remainder of his comments.

She rummaged a bit more, and pulled out a second, slightly larger pack, this one with a two person tent compression-packed beneath its sleeping bag.

"We're not going camping," Kirk said, amused.

"You never know," Amanda said obscurely. "I went to a party once, and ended up camping for six months. And what if you **do** decide to go camping, later this week or next? Spock **always** goes camping when he comes home on leave. I'm sure he'll want to."

"But I never take anything," Spock countered.

"Oh, spare me the Vulcan hubris. Jim isn't even acclimated yet, much less ready to do one of your desert survival treks. With this, you'll have at least the basics. And as for the tent, Vulcan gets cold at night. During the day, a tent insulates against heat and sunburn. I go through this stuff every six months, and replace anything that's expired. It's all good. Just humor me, and throw it in your cargo area."

"Then you won't have it." Kirk said.

"I'm just going to the Academy," Amanda said. "I could **walk** home."

"I don't think you could," Spock observed.

"Don't be so literal," Amanda said, and leaning over, she kissed her son on the cheek, and after a moment, gave Jim a kiss too. "Remember what I said. Stick close to home today. Time enough tomorrow to add to your précis of legendary exploits." She looked at her watch and shook her head. "I've got a graduate seminar in fifteen minutes. I have to go." She shook a warning fist at the flyer. "Break my child and I'll have you disassembled into atoms." She waved a hand at the staring Starfleet officers and left.

"I think I am beginning to like your mother," Kirk said.

"I didn't know that you did not," Spock said, with a trace of surprise.

Kirk flushed, realizing he'd been too candid. "It's not that I dislike her. It's just that, well, I don't know her very well, do I?"

Spock shrugged at that, his eyes on the security screens surrounding the estate, which had begun to flicker, admitting a series of tour vehicles. "They're here. If we don't want to be **captured** by tourists' holo cameras - and they will take pictures of whomever they see, they are shockingly indiscreet - we'd better go. We're not supposed to be around when the tourists go through. They're considered a security risk. They're to be escorted only by the guard. Sarek would be displeased."

Kirk blinked at Spock's word choice, but the Vulcan seemed unconscious of it. "I'm ready," Kirk said. He helped Spock stash the two backpacks and climbed in. "Go ahead," he said, gesturing Spock to the pilot's chair.

"I know you want to fly it, Captain."

Kirk grinned. "I do. But don't you think your mother would want you to do the first honors? It is yours."

"I can't imagine why she prevailed upon my father to procure it. She cares nothing for such vehicles. No more do I, as she well knows." He canted a brow at Kirk. "You, however-"

"I'll confess. I've been itching to fly it **before** it ever got delivered."

"So," Spock flicked a brow and settled in the co-pilot's chair.

Kirk sat down in the con with relish. "You may have to coach me where the controls differ a bit from Federation vessels."

"I doubt it. But if you wish." Spock gave him a chary look. "Please don't hit the tourists, though."

Kirk snorted and lifted off.

An hour of acrobatics later, Kirk leveled out in the atmosphere above a high mountain plain and said. "I think I'm in love. No, I'm certain. I **am** in love."

"It's only a ship. Though it is well designed," Spock said.

"You have no poetry in your soul, Spock," Kirk argued.

"I do. But not for a mechanical device." Spock was leaning back in the co-pilot's chair, watching Kirk with mild amusement. Except for a little coaching where Kirk was unfamiliar with the Vulcan legends on the instrument panel, he had not taken the controls at all.

"Don't listen to him, baby," Kirk crooned to the control panel. "Spock, wouldn't she make a fabulous tender for the _Enterprise_? I think she'd fit through the hangar bay doors easily."

"It would fit. But the Enterprise has a full complement of shuttle craft."

"We don't have a warp-capable tender. Think how useful she could be. And Scotty would love this thing."

"He would tear it apart."

"And I'd be next to him when he did. He'd put her back together, never fear. Scotty can do anything."

"I am not certain it would be in keeping with regulations."

"Regulations," Kirk scoffed. "If it isn't, we can get an exemption. Spock we can't leave this pretty thing behind. She belongs on the _Enterprise_. Though my girl might be just a tad jealous of her baby sister."

Spock didn't say anything.

After a moment, Kirk tore his eyes from the controls and the outward viewscreen. "Spock?"

But the Vulcan had looked away, avoiding answering. "There is a good spot to land," Spock said, pointing with a finger. "Very level. No rocks, or wind shears. It will be a good place to rest for a while."

"All right," Kirk said, wary and circumspect. "But if you want to take a break, maybe we should go back to your home. Remember, you'd promised Bones to eat something mid-morning. I don't want to face him if he thinks I aided and abetted you in disregarding his medical orders."

"I don't want to go home," Spock said. "The tourists will still be in the gardens."

"We could go back to Shikahr to eat, I suppose," Kirk said. "Find a restaurant."

"You don't like Vulcan food," Spock said. "And the Terran style restaurants on Vulcan are not really worth patronizing, compared to the food at home. Too much of the food in those places is reconstituted, since Terran food on Vulcan is very expensive. The food at home is always fresh and real. And T'Rueth is a much better cook. Even my mother is, and she is not, in general, renowned for her cuisine."

Kirk half smiled at Spock's unsentimental Vulcan candor. "Well, if you don't want to eat out, that only leaves going back."

"Not entirely. Mother said those backpacks had food in them. If you are so insistent that I follow McCoy's orders-"

"I am."

"—then we should investigate what is in them."

"Okay," Kirk landed the craft where Spock pointed. They grabbed the packs and took them outside in the sunshine. The air was fresh and brisk on the high plain. Kirk belatedly remembered he had come out again with no triox. Well, he'd be home before that was too much of an issue, provided he didn't exert himself.

On the topmost layer of the smaller backpack was a set of water pouches, stamped with an expiration date more than four standard years in the future. Kirk tossed a couple to Spock and paused to drain one himself, before spilling out the contents of the packs. "Lord, your mother is thorough," Kirk said. The items in the pack had been carefully compression packed and bundled by type of item. There was an ultralight first aid kit in a waterproof pouch, and sparing a glance to see if Spock was watching - his gaze was turned away looking over the view - Kirk found it included triox. He snagged himself a few pills. The pack also contained several different rechargeable power sources, a compression packed toiletries kit, a mess kit with collapsible cunningly fitted pans, dishes and utensils, and no less two palm sized solid fuel stoves, a cache of several types of utility tools, knives, wire saws, and a phaser weapon, emergency beacons and communication devices, a notebook and writing utensils, a bivvy bag, ground cloth and portable shelter, unisex, unisize changes of clothing, ponchos, sunglasses, floppy hats, and heavy and light gloves, on and on and on.

"How did she get all this packed in here?" Kirk wondered. "This is incredibly detailed, and yet really portable. I'd like to review this more thoroughly. Maybe we should incorporate some of this to replicate for Enterprise landing party use. We **do** travel a little too light at times."

"My parents were trapped for many months on a war devastated planet before they were rescued. After that, my mother made something of a detailed study of survival essentials. Where's the **food**?" Spock asked, returning his gaze from the plains view to the items Kirk had tumbled out of the bag.

Kirk found the section. Another compression packed bag with packets of tea, coffee, cocoa and crystallized fruit flavorings for water. A small bag of hard candies laced with essential B and C vitamins for stress, a half dozen foil packs with granola type bars. And three different types of entrée packs – fully hydrated pouches of casserole type meals that could be eaten cold or warmed up, military MREs, and dehydrated backpacking style meals that required water to reconstitute. "If the other pack has a similar cache, we could eat pretty well for a week on this," Kirk noted. "Here, try this." He handed Spock one of the granola bars. "I could make coffee," he said, longing for a cup, and then shrugged, "well, why not? We might as well use this stuff."

He opened the little mess kit and discovered inside the cunningly nested items were matches, fuel cell lighters, plus old-fashioned magnesium and flint firestarters. "No less than triple redundancy," he said, amused but appreciative of Amanda's thoroughness. A match to a fuel cell tab under the little palm sized stove, a couple of water packets in one of the pots and he soon had water boiling. Alongside several different types of water filtration methods – a straw filter, and an electronic water purifier powered by one of the portable solar rechargeable power sources - was a set of coffee filters, useful for straining gross impurities out of water before the final purification steps, but also useful for filtering boiling water through coffee grounds. He made a couple of cups for himself and saved enough boiling water for Spock to have a mug of tea with one of the tea bags. He handed the tea to Spock, complete with some of the crystalized lemon for flavoring. Added a sweetening packet to his own mug. Then he broke off a chunk of a granola bar and dipped it in his coffee. "This isn't bad at all," he said to Spock. After a moment, he went whole hog, and untying the sleeping bags from the pack, gave one to Spock for a pillow and used the other for a backrest for himself. "Not bad at all."

"Mother is an excellent researcher. For a human. And their situation was quite perilous – they were fortunate to survive – she vowed never to face the prospect of such a situation unprepared again."

"How long were they trapped?" Kirk asked.

"Half a standard year."

Kirk turned to Spock, shocked. He'd been thinking of it being a few days or weeks. Now he understood Amanda's odd reference about unexpectedly going camping for six months. "Where were you then?"

"It wasn't long after I'd joined Starfleet. I was on a training mission, with Pike. I didn't hear about their situation until long after the war started. The Enterprise was very far out of contact."

"It must have been hard on you."

Spock gave him a curious look. "It was much harder on my parents. The combatants used toxic weapons, making most of the planet uninhabitable. They barely survived in one of the few clean zones, but there wasn't much in the way of resources, and that part of the planet soon went into a winter season. They were quite starved upon their rescue. Hence my mother's subsequent interest in survival gear." 1

"Ouch," Kirk said. He was not unfamiliar with that state himself after a painful incident in his youth, when food on a colony world had run short, and only certain people were selected to live. "I know what that's like." He looked at Spock. "So do you," he added, referring to Spock's recent captivity and rescue.

"I would rather not think of it," Spock said.

"Sooner or later," Kirk began delicately, "You're going to **have** to talk about it. To McCoy at least."

Spock said nothing.

"Maybe it's harder to talk to McCoy," Kirk said. "Maybe it would be easier to talk with-"

"I don't want to discuss it." Spock said and turned away.

Kirk bit his tongue, longing to ask Spock questions forbidden to him, by McCoy, by Starfleet's own rules and regulations. Didn't Spock realize he **had** to talk if he wanted to be reinstated? Did he **want** to be reinstated? Didn't he realize how the clock was ticking?

Kirk poured himself another cup of coffee and sipped it unguarded. The coffee was so hot he burned his tongue and he closed his eyes, holding back an exclamation of pain, ridiculous to express compared to the pain Spock had been through. Somehow, thinking of his own past, the unexpected story of his host's painful survival experience, Spock's captivity, the whole ordeal of life suddenly seemed overwhelmingly hard, almost too futile to contemplate. Even sitting next to a warp flyer, with every conceivable portable luxury spread out practically in his lap.

It took him a moment to work through his distress and put a cheerful expression back on his face. Determined not to, as Bones had said, **push**. But when he turned back to Spock, he discovered his friend had fallen asleep, the mug of tea half-finished, a chunk of the cereal bar still clutched in his hand.

Kirk sighed softly and moved fractionally away. Thinking he might as well spend the time usefully, he thought he'd make a list of the survival bag's contents. Not just the contents, but the redundancies, the organization of it. It had been very carefully thought out. Kirk wasn't averse to picking up useful knowledge where he could.

He took the paper notebook out of the bag, and dug into the pocket for one of the pens there. While he was scrabbling for it, another item in the pocket slipped through his fingers. He captured it and pulled it out. It was a portable data-store, with a charger receptor attached that mated to the solar panel connectors on the charging panel. But when he flipped it on, he discovered it still held its initial charge.

The data-store held mostly texts. Survival manuals, reference books, instruction manuals on everything from tanning leather to making a septic system. He looked through them, and discovered at the end there was a collection of fiction books, classic novels, even some poetry. Thinking he might find something to take his mind off things while Spock slept, he scrolled down further and triggered the opening of a cache of images. Pictures. The data-store apparently could also function as a digital picture frame, displaying a series of images, a few seconds for each. Before he could find the control to turn off the feature, the images captured him.

They turned out to be mostly pictures of Spock. Of Spock as he had never seen him. But recognizably Spock. The pictures seemed to be brought up in some randomizer effect, not in any chronological order. Spock in a Starfleet cadet uniform. Spock as a toddler, dwarfed by a huge saber-toothed creature that must have been a sehlat. Spock perhaps at three or four with a much younger Sarek, no gray in the elder Vulcan's hair, both wearing elaborate council uniforms. Spock as a pre-teen, standing by an unfaded, pristinely new version of his old flyer, windblown long bangs hiding his classic Vulcan brows, still so young his head didn't come up to the top of the low slung vehicle. Spock on a white pony, thin arms wrapped around its neck. Spock in a Starfleet cadet baseball uniform. Spock at perhaps three, with a Terran kitten in his arms, face buried in its fur. Spock and Chris Pike, both of them so young Kirk's breath caught in his throat, Pike with the two and a half stripes that marked him as a Captain with less than five years seniority, and Spock with no braid on his sleeves at all, obviously just out of the Academy. Spock at perhaps six or seven, standing by the Eiffel Tower next to Sarek. Spock and Sarek on a beach, in swim trunks and white terrycloth jackets, making an elaborate sand castle. Spock wearing some sort of school uniform. Spock in what Kirk recognized was the study of his suite at home, a computer pad and study materials around him, his back against the rock wall, an imperious look on his face.

In almost half of these photos, Spock had a little curve in one corner of his mouth, the restrained Vulcan version of a smile: a bare half smile. In others he was grave and solemn. Remote and removed. Vulcan. There were a few with Amanda. Her holding a dark haired, sharp eared baby, so young herself it looked as if Sarek had done some serious cradle robbing. Another of her with Spock as he must have been in his mid-twenties, wearing a more recent style of Fleet uniform, he serious, grave and severe, his eyes narrowed, and Amanda next to him. Smiling but not really smiling. The kind of smile that put on a brave front, and masked tears. Kirk looked into the image of her face, smiling staunchly at the camera, happy to be with her son, torn because he soon would again be leaving her, and he swallowed hard, glad when that image was replaced.

Picture after picture came up and disappeared. Hitting him over and over again with an awareness he came to not want to acknowledge, but couldn't make himself look away from. Spock on Vulcan. Spock's life with his parents. Spock as Amanda, as Sarek had once known him, or even as he had been at the Academy, before Kirk had known him. When Pike had known him. The whole of his life, before Kirk had ever met him, barely three years before. Spock, Spock, Spock.

Most of their lives had been lived apart. Spock might have come with the _Enterprise_. Part of the equipment, so to speak. A personification of Kirk's first command, the Science Officer who'd been aboard her for eleven years prior to Kirk's assumption of her Command. But he **wasn't** the Enterprise personified. Kirk could command without him. He might just **have** to.

Kirk flung the data store away from him, and then stricken, looked over at his friend. But **his** Spock, Spock in the flesh, slept on, undisturbed.

After a moment, Kirk shifted across the sand and picked up the data-store. It made perfect sense of course. Spock had remarked on how thorough his Mother was. Amanda had obviously put a great deal of thought and preparation in her survival cache. It didn't add an extra ounce to include pictures of her son in with her books on edible plants and how to make soap. Naturally she'd include pictures of her only much loved child. But Kirk wished he hadn't seen them. It reiterated to him a fact he didn't want to dwell on. Claims to Spock that predated his own, and in some respects superseded his own. Except for the fact that Spock wasn't a child any more. He was an adult. He had chosen Starfleet.

But he could, just as easily, unchoose it.

He hadn't yet indicated, to McCoy, to Kirk, that he was ready to choose it again.

Spock stirred, and Kirk turned to him, a smile on his face. The kind of smile that hid, if not tears, then a painful awareness behind it. And a determination not to burden Spock further. To hold his friend with open hands.

And it came to Kirk, only too clearly, why his behavior had been so reprehensible with Spock's parents, particularly with Amanda. He recognized her pain, behind the serenity of her public expressions. She'd made the same painful decision, decades ago. She wore the same smile. The one **he'd** been afraid to wear, at the prospect of living with a loss he didn't want to face. She too had had a life with her son, and had to give it up, for Spock's benefit. Only it might be now the tables were turning.

And after three years of being as close as brothers, **he** might have to do the same. And end up with nothing more than a portable image-store of holos and memories. Wearing a brave, cheerful smile, as **he** let Spock go.

Just as she had done.

_To be continued…_

1 See _When the Winter Comes_


	27. Chapter 27

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 27**

When McCoy woke from his post breakfast nap, the red sun had advanced high in the sky. When he'd gone to sleep, he'd left his windows open to the fresh morning air. Now, the heat blasting through them could have come from an oven.

He rolled out of bed, his muscles still protesting the gravity that pulled him down, and squinted at the chronometer on the bedside table. Well past noon. Time for even a doctor who'd been up all night to face the Vulcan day. He took a look at his face, with a day and a half of stubble prickling it, and groaned again. A top flight surgeon he did not look like. Well, at least he could take a real water shower, even a tub bath if he wanted.

"Another day," he muttered wearily. "And that damn dinner with T'Pau tonight too." He dragged himself off to get cleaned up.

Freshly dressed and shaven, he walked out onto the stair landing to look up at the many steps that led to Spock's level. Wondering if he were up there. Every muscle in his body ached at the thought of climbing up those stairs. "Today it might as well be Everest," he said. "Now I know how Spock feels." Then he shook his head in disgust. "No, you don't McCoy. That was really stupid. But definitely coffee first."

He turned around and headed down to the kitchen determined to beg, borrow or steal something with enough caffeine in it to make him human again, or at least functional enough to treat Vulcans on Vulcan.

When he walked into the breakfast room, he found Kirk pouring a cup from a pot in the center of the table.

"If that the last cup, I'm going to wrestle you for it. And considering how desperate I am, I might just win, even if you are the **somethingest** Captain in the Fleet."

"No need." Kirk said, snagging a free cup and pouring one for him.

"Uhm," McCoy said. It was hot enough and strong enough even for Fleet officers. "These late nights are catching up with me." He drained half the cup and sighing looked around the table. "Where's your partner in crime?"

Kirk's smile was a little bleak. "Following orders. He ate lunch and went to take a nap."

"'Bout time someone follows my orders around here," McCoy grumbled. He finished the cup and held it out wordlessly for more. Kirk filled it.

"You don't seem too chipper yourself," McCoy noted, when he'd drank enough of the second to consider something outside his own weariness. "Did you forget to take your triox again? Or is it Spock? Didn't he do okay today?"

Kirk hesitated.

"What?" McCoy asked, putting his cup down.

"Nothing. He was…fine." Kirk's voice lacked much conviction and he traced the rim of his coffee cup restlessly.

McCoy tipped a brow. "What wasn't fine?"

"I know he's conserving his strength. That he's up and on his feet is great. Just ...great." Kirk tried to muster enthusiasm.

"Sounds like a _but_ there."

"But he's up an hour or two, and then he just ...conks out. And when he is awake, he's not the same Spock. He acts like he's, well **Sarek's** grandfather. He moves like he's conserving every calorie. As if he moves too fast, he'll shatter."

McCoy gave an exasperated sigh. "Give him a break, Jim. You know what he's been through."

"I **know**. But... we took that flyer out. Do you know he never took the controls? Not once. Sat in the co-pilot's chair – didn't even sit up, or forward, didn't even bother to look at the readouts. Hunched in the corner like he needed the bulkhead to hold him up. And he's so…reserved. I mean, Spock usually _is_, compared to a human, but ... Maybe he's not so much reserved now as **quiet**. He just ...watches things."

"He's not likely to be a chatterbox, given he's spent the last two months trying not to talk at all."

"Yeah, but with me? Half the time he's so withdrawn it's like he's not even **there**."

"This is Vulcan. He's likely to be more reserved here."

"I **don't** think so, because he's that way with just **me** around."

"It's going to take a while, Jim."

"We may not **have** a while, Bones," Kirk said testily. "Don't you understand? I want to get off this rock with my crew intact. And **functional**."

"Whatever time it takes, it **takes**."

"But can't you do **something**? Something more? I don't see you doing **anything**. A pill. A tonic, maybe? Something to give him some energy?"

McCoy had to laugh in spite of the situation. "McCoy's old fashioned post-Klingon tonic restorer?"

Kirk grinned reluctantly at that. "Just **help** him. I mean I know you must be trying. But all I've seen you do with him is **talk**. You said it to me: mooning around is no way to get better."

"It's a little different for Spock," McCoy said.

"Is it?" Kirk said, shaking his head. "I don't think so."

"He burned through a lot of muscle mass in captivity. Most days he's still not eating enough to make up for his daily requirements, much less make up what he's lost. And even then, it's going to take him a while to build up strength and stamina again."

"How long?"

"After a few more days of good groceries, maybe he can graduate from walks in the garden to a little light sparring. **Light** sparring."

"By the end of next week, we're supposed to be **gone**."

"I know." McCoy looked at Kirk with sympathy. "But he's lucky, Jim. He's showing no cardiac problems in spite of his weight loss. His major organs didn't fail in spite of all that trauma. That he's marshalling his strength is **sensible**. You just have to be patient."

"He's bounced back a lot quicker before. Even when he had to regenerate a major organ, that time he was shot," Kirk argued.

"That was an acute trauma. He was in good shape, had good reserves, otherwise. That's not the case now. And he could do a fully functional healing trance, which he can't manage just yet."

"It just seems to me with all this medical support, all these supposedly **superior** Vulcan healers-" Kirk caught himself a drew a breath. "I just want him better." He looked up at a flicker from the outside force shields. "Looks like Amanda is home," he said darkly.

"Be nice," McCoy said.

"Nice. How **can** I be nice to her?" Kirk said, getting up from the table. "when I want to take her son away and subject him again to the possibility of the torture he's just been through. What kind of friend is that? I may be many things, Bones, but I'm **not** a hypocrite." He rose from the table as if unwilling to face her.

"You could ask how you could be a friend to Spock in that instance too. But I don't see you asking yourself **that**."

"Then maybe you're not as good a shrink as you **think**," Kirk snapped back.

Before McCoy could respond, or even think much about that, Amanda was paused in the doorway. "Am I intruding?" she asked carefully.

"I was just leaving," Kirk said.

"Don't forget about tonight's dinner with T'Pau," Amanda said, trying a smile with him. "It wouldn't do to get caught by a lematya today."

"I'll be back in time," Kirk said.

"Jim, hang on a bit. I presume we wear something formal to this shindig tonight?" McCoy asked Amanda.

Amanda nodded. "it wouldn't be amiss."

"Dress uniforms, I guess," McCoy said, already tugging at his collar in memory. "I hate those damn -excuse me," he added to Amanda, "things."

"Starfleet dress uniforms," Amanda said, and her eyes widened at bit at that. "I suppose you might. For you and Captain Kirk. Spock won't."

"Why not?" Kirk said, eyes narrowing.

"He has to wear clan dress, Captain," Amanda said mildly. "He was T'Pau's heir, long before he went to Fleet. It would be entirely inappropriate for him to appear otherwise before her. That is, if he did so, it might be taken a certain way."

"He's-" Kirk began.

"Jim," McCoy gave Kirk a look and shook his head. Kirk subsided, but not without a furrowing of his brow.

"I suppose you've got a fabricator that can churn out something," McCoy said. "I sure didn't bring a dress uniform with me."

"Since Spock is going to be sleeping for a while yet," Kirk said. "I'm going to visit the _Enterprise_. I can bring one back for you, Bones. And for Spock. Just in case he wants one," he added to Amanda. "Do you want to come along, Bones? Spock's new flyer is more than comfortable for two, unlike the old one."

"No, thanks," McCoy said. "I'm not that fond of recycled air, to want to breathe it when I don't need to. And I prefer to keep my feet on firm ground, especially when the alternative is a starship being turned inside out. Or, with all due respect, Captain Sir, your questionable driving."

"Very funny," Kirk said, though he was not smiling. "All right."

"Before you go," Amanda said. Kirk paused unwillingly. "I've decided to give an evening party, day after tomorrow. I wondered if any of your senior officers, Spock's friends, might want to attend?"

"Most of them are on leave," Kirk said, brow furrowed in consideration of this. "And most of the rest will be on duty, given we've only got a skeleton crew on board. But," he surrendered to good manners, "I'll extend the invitation to those bridge officers that are free. I'm sure they'll appreciate the consideration."

"Good." Amanda smiled charmingly. "No dress code. **They** can wear whatever they like."

"I'll be back in a few hours. Long before the dinner." Kirk nodded to Bones and left.

"So," McCoy said, sighing gustily. "Now we've gotten rid of the kids. For the moment, anyway."

Amanda smiled and sat across from McCoy. She poured herself a cup of coffee, and then screwed up her brow at the taste. Obviously Jim had ordered it far stronger than she could countenance. "Do you think of them that way?"

"Sometimes," McCoy said, smiling at the look on her face as she pushed it away. "I'm twelve years older than Jim. About ten older than Spock. Not quite another generation, but there are times the gap seems wider than at other times."

"You're obviously very fond of them," Amanda said.

"Jim's a good friend. I'm sorry you're not seeing quite the best side of him, but you understand he's a little torn right now. And while Spock and I spar verbally a bit too often to be comfortable at times, I'm fond of him too. But don't count on that, Amanda," McCoy said, giving her a warning glance. "I have a job to do here, and I have to do it."

Amanda looked down at her fingers, that she'd twisted into knots at McCoy's warning. "I do understand."

"What do **you** see Spock doing, if he weren't to go back to Fleet?" McCoy asked, looking at her downcast face.

Amanda shrugged. "Teach. Attend Council."

"A rather domestic life, after two decades in active Fleet duty, don't you think?"

Amanda sighed and tilted her head. "Well, if he's not well enough for active duty, then a less stressful life might be what's called for, mightn't it? At least for a while."

"Hmphf," McCoy said. "Maybe."

"Why do you want to know what **I** want Spock to do?" Amanda said, looking up, her eyes narrowed. "What does it matter what I see him doing? Surely, you should be asking **Spock** that question instead of me, shouldn't you?"

McCoy laughed at that, and finished his coffee. "Maybe that answers at least one of my questions."

She frowned at him, then her eyes widened. "Oh! You are devious, Dr. McCoy."

"What do you care?" McCoy teased. "You passed."

"Maybe I'm deeper than you think," Amanda said truculently.

"Maybe you **wish** you were."

"I don't think I much care for having a shrink in residence, if he's evaluating me."

McCoy smiled, then sobered. "I approve of your lining up contacts for Spock, a safety net of sorts, in case he needs that out. But don't push so that he thinks he'll disappoint you if he doesn't take that out. Not that I think you have. Or that you would, based on what you just said."

"It wouldn't matter, even if I did. I don't think he would care either way, what I think."

McCoy's eyes widened at that. "Really? Now that does sound a bit resentful."

"What is, is," Amanda said with a matter of fact air. "As for what influences Spock: it's him, Sarek, T'Pau or Starfleet that really matters to him. With me **very** far below."

"Does that bother you?"

Amanda gave a long-suffering sigh. "Dr. McCoy, I raised that child. He's as stubborn as his father, and, when he's planning something, thinks twelve steps ahead like T'Pau. He knows what he wants, and he goes for it. And for good or ill, **my** influence has never been a major factor in **any** of his decision making."

"I think you might be selling yourself short," McCoy said, observing her, thinking of some of what he'd found out about Spock's Vulcan life. "Very short, maybe."

"No," she said cluelessly. "Oh, I would like him home, for sure," she admitted. "I will hate for him to leave. I'll cry my eyes out for a day or two when he does. Poor Sarek will be caught in the unenviable position of a Vulcan husband who has to deal with an emotional human wife. And won't he resent his son for that. But I won't have Spock stay at the expense of his happiness."

"And Sarek?"

"He can lump it," Amanda said uncharitably. "Sarek may be many things. But he's not dumb enough to repeat the same mistake twice, Leonard. He knows better than to give Spock an ultimatum at this stage."

"Now I think you might be selling **him** short," McCoy said thinking of the formidable Ambassador.

"It didn't work before. He won't try that again. Not to mention, I wouldn't let him. Leonard," Amanda looked at McCoy meaningfully. "If you are concerned about Spock's freedom to return to Starfleet, sans family obligations, then it's T'Pau you really need to worry about. Spock will discount me, because he knows I'll accept his decisions, and I have no real power to stop him. He'll kick over Sarek's traces, if he really wants to, because he knows he can. Sarek may lean on him, guilt him, maybe even order him, though I doubt he'll go that far. This time. He may try to think of some logical or other reason to require Spock to stay. But both my Vulcans know that Sarek can't really **force** him if it comes to a showdown. **Unless** T'Pau backs Sarek. And she didn't before. But... Spock's never challenged T'Pau. I don't think he ever will. She **can** order him, and she wouldn't hesitate to force him, if she thought it warranted that action. T'Pau can be very subtle and also very direct. And when it comes to Spock's future...I'm afraid, what she says, goes. Even from Spock. At least, that's my assessment."

McCoy let out a careful breath. "Maybe I wasn't thinking quite that far ahead."

Amanda just tilted a brow.

"And what will she say?" he dared to ask.

Amanda shook her head. "I thought I knew T'Pau's mind in this. Before. But I honestly have no idea now. I don't think **she** knows yet either. That's perhaps, why she's been so insistent on Spock attending her. She isn't used to having to wait when she wants data to form a conclusion."

"Apart from her ability, as you say, to force him, what would their relationship be if she did order him to stay, and he were unwilling?"

"Unwilling?" Amanda said, eyes widened as if she found the concept foreign to her. "I'm not sure how unwilling he **would** be. I told you, he and T'Pau are **close**. She backed him when he went off to Starfleet before. He'll never forget she did that for him."

"So did you."

"He doesn't know much about that," Amanda said. "And I didn't have much influence with him then. I was his human mother. Condescended to, but not regarded with much credit. No, T'Pau was the real power there. And he's grateful to her, and for all the acceptance she's granted him over the years. I told you they were close. Not in a human way, but I think he'd do anything for T'Pau. No matter what it cost him. Without a murmur of consideration for himself."

"I'm very familiar with that mindset in Spock," McCoy said, raising a brow. "As regards Jim. And Chris Pike."

Amanda nodded. "Where he gives his loyalty, it is without condition. And of all those in his universe, I think T'Pau has first claim to that devotion. It's never come up, because she's always given him his head. So far."

"Good to know." McCoy said. But his smile had vanished.

"Yes," Amanda said, almost sadly. "If she orders him to stay... Watch out, Jim. There may be storm warnings ahead that even he can't navigate."

_To be continued..._

_getting bored yet? review, review_


	28. Chapter 28

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 28**

"What the sam hill is that?" McCoy said, sitting up in his seat, as T'Pau's Palace filled the viewscreen.

"You mean you haven't seen it before, Leonard?" Amanda asked.

McCoy rubbed his eyes, as if to confirm he was seeing reality. "I guess when I was on my busman's holiday, I missed taking the Terry Tourist Tour of Vulcan. What **is** that?"

"My wife's future home," Sarek said, aiming the flyer for the window that had dropped in the force-screens.

"No," Amanda turning to Sarek with a glare. "No and no."

Sarek gave her a bland Vulcan look McCoy was only too familiar with, from being on the distaff end of it with Spock. "I am operating under the assumption that eventually, with repeated consideration, you will come to accept the inevitability-" Sarek began.

"No," Amanda repeated into this Vulcan sea of words. "Anyway, T'Pau is going to be around for a long, long, **long** time."

"You will have to resign yourself that-"

"Why can't **Spock** move **here**?" Amanda countered, with the belligerence of a snapping Pekinese confronting a tiger, while McCoy's brows rose as he realized he'd put his foot into an old argument. "He'll have to move here eventually anyway. Why not have him just skip taking over the Fortress and go straight here, not collecting two hundred credits?"

Sarek glanced from the controls back to her, not sidetracked by Monopoly allusions. "Tradition requires-"

"In this instance, **hang** tradition," Amanda said. "It's such an unimportant detail. And don't you think I've been an awfully good sport about **most** of it?"

"Actually, I do," Sarek said, and the look he gave her now was rife with meaning, and an affection almost palpable to McCoy in the confined space of the aircar cabin.

It seemed to mollify Amanda somewhat too, putting her off her attack dog stance. "Well, then"-

"But we will **still** have to move."

Amanda glanced at McCoy in frustration. "Vulcans," she said.

McCoy nodded in commiseration.

"Surely no one lives here," McCoy commented, as the building came to surround them at close range. "Course I felt the same thing when I saw that fortress you live in."

Sarek landed the flyer in the hangar before he replied. "This edifice is a part of Vulcan history, Doctor. One of my family's many duties is to maintain certain living links to our past. To preserve them for the future. It is past time," Sarek added meaningfully, "that Spock returned to Vulcan to attend to some of these myriad responsibilities."

McCoy exited the aircar, and before he could reply to Sarek, fell prey to the ambient micro-climate. He gasped for enough oxygen in the thinner air and tugged reflexively at his collar as if that could help. "Lord, it's **hotter** here."

"The plains are dryer than the foothills," Amanda said. "Though inside the gardens, there are a lot of fountains. They will help add some humidity. Though not entirely displace the affect of the air here. One reason why I prefer **my** **own** **home**," she said pointedly to her husband.

"We will still have to move," Sarek told her, not missing a beat.

To Sarek, McCoy said, "Let's not get into Spock's future duties tonight, all right? This is supposed to be a nice family dinner." He looked at Amanda. "You did lay down the law to T'Pau?"

"I explained Spock's condition to her," Amanda confirmed, "as best I could. She **claimed** to understand. But Doctor McCoy, no one can 'lay down the law' to T'Pau."

"Agreed," Sarek said. "Essentially she is as much above the law as she is the law herself. She is Matriarch of all Clans, not just our own."

"Hmpf," McCoy said. "Just watch me. No one supersedes my medical authority as regards your son, not so long as he's in Fleet. And just watch Jim stand by and let anyone hurt him. After snatching Spock from Klingon hands, a few Vulcans," he grimaced as he passed the gruesomely uniformed guardsman posted around the Palace - as tall and large and square as the card solders in _Alice in Wonderland_, "however massive, aren't going to stop him."

"It won't come to that," Amanda said, glancing from McCoy's battle drawn brows to Sarek's set face, striving to make peace between the two. "Anyway, I agree with you, Doctor. A peaceful family dinner."

"Yeah, right. In the Vulcan version of Versailles," McCoy said, as he fully took in the extent of the huge palace before them.

xxx

Back at the Fortress, Spock was still changing clothes.

"Pretty fancy outfit," Kirk commented, watching Spock straighten his elaborately embroidered Vulcan tunic.

"The same might be said of yours, Captain," Spock said, with a nod to Kirk's beribboned and medaled dress uniform. Except that this," Spock frowned again at the tunic," Is **not** mine. Mine," he frowned at one laid out on the bed, "does not **fit**."

"You could always go in the Starfleet one."

"That doesn't fit either. Hence why my mother had this one procured for me from the clan archives."

"Eat more," Kirk suggested. "Turn sideways, and you need a tricorder to see you, Commander."

"I think not."

"Well, you'd better start building yourself up. McCoy says in another day or so you'll be well enough to start working out. I'm looking forward to that, because I'm **pretty** sure that for the first time since I've known you, if I go at you full strength, I'll be able to pound you into the sand. For a few days anyway. And I've half a mind to take advantage of this rare opportunity for the little time it will last."

Spock glanced at Kirk and changed the subject. "I suppose in lieu of anything else I must wear this. And, after all, my father's tunic was not originally his either."

"Your father wears hand-me-downs?" Kirk said, amused at the notion. "Spock, I **don't** think so."

"Indeed, he does. His was worn originally by Surak. My mother's dress was created for the legendary T'ianye."

"Your father's was-" Kirk swallowed his comment and decided it was time for him to change the subject himself. "That's some hand-me-down."

"It's only worn for certain occasions."

"Like a casual family dinner, like this was originally supposed to be. Casual, Vulcan-style, I guess. And speaking of dinner, we had better go. Your parents and McCoy have already left. And your mother will never forgive me if I don't get you there in time."

"In **that** flyer," Spock said dryly, turning from the mirror, "time is not only relative, it might almost be considered inconsequential. We have ample time to arrive punctually. But we should go, not to be too far behind my parents."

They walked out through Spock's rooms, down the staircase, past the tapestried, bannered walls, hung with weapons from thousands of years past. Kirk glanced from them to his First Officer, as prosaic in this situation as if they were walking to the officers' mess, or to main rec after a normal day's shift. Right now, Kirk would have given almost anything to be there and not here, however illustrious their present setting. "Spock, do you ever-"

Spock glanced at him curiously. "Yes, Captain?"

Kirk reconsidered his thoughts. "Never mind." He waited till they walked out through the gardens, past the looming lematya sculptures and banners, past the bracing guards. When they reached the flyer, Kirk made a gesture yielding the pilot's seat to Spock, but the Vulcan shook his head and went to his usual co-pilot's position. "I suppose you're looking forward to this?" Kirk said, sliding into the con, and engaging the engines.

"I am pleased at the prospect of seeing T'Pau again, and the opportunity to express my apologies for any of my actions that may have grieved her in our previous encounter."

"You didn't do anything wrong," Kirk said, defensive on his friend's behalf as he took off, and aimed for the forceshield window. "You weren't responsible."

Spock looked at Kirk measuringly. "That is the general Vulcan attitude for such times, yes. But all actions have consequences. Even those for which we might have some justifiable excuse for committing."

"It wasn't your fault." Kirk set course for the coordinates he'd been given.

"My behavior was certainly reprehensible in many respects."

"You went there for a wedding, not a -" Kirk broke off. "If your fiancé hadn't—well, I don't want to talk about that. Anyway, it all ended well enough. Everyone survived. You recovered. I didn't have much more than a scratch. We both went right back to duty. That's all I could ask for, then or-" He left off, aware that his statement was almost a reflection on their present circumstances. In fact, even reviewing Spock's comments, he realized they could be taken in a larger context of demanding Spock return to duty now.

Spock looked away, "I understand, Captain."

Kirk looked at him, willing him to say that he understood and agreed with Kirk, that **he** wanted to return as well. Instead they crossed the rest of the Forge in silence. Below on the desert, a huge lematya, awaked from its daily nap with the gathering of dusk, pursued a smaller animal, striking it down just as the shadow of their craft flew over the racing pair, perhaps disconcerting the prey animal enough so that it faltered into the lematya's claws. Their aircar then crossed over the city of Shikahr, all twinkling lights and lofty towers. Kirk made for the red navigation beacon that he'd been told marked the highest point of T'Pau's palace, and began their descent. It was Kirk's first glimpse of it, and he looked from it to Spock in chagrin. "What the hell **is** this place?" Kirk inadvertently echoed McCoy, as he swooped in behind what he recognized as Sarek's flyer, it having made the crossing at a more subdued pace. But rather than land as Sarek had done, Kirk flew a reconnaissance over the complex, checking it out.

"The site of our dinner invitation," Spock said matter-of-factly. "It is our clan seat. I suppose the Terran translation is similar to _palace_. That's what Mother calls it. It was never a defensive site like the Fortress, so it does not rate the translation of fortress or castle."

"It's...big," Kirk said, looking it over from his lofty viewpoint. "Who lives here? I mean, surely T'Pau is not the **only** person in residence."

"Most everyone who resides here either serves T'Pau in her capacity as Matriarch, or holds advanced degrees or a position in historic preservation. By tradition, the clan leader and Matriarch must reside here. My parents will have to move here upon T'Pau's demise."

Kirk glanced at Spock. "You speak of that event rather cold-bloodedly."

"No." Spock shrugged. "But it has been somewhat on my mind. The succession is a matter of tradition, and unvarying custom. Likewise," he added, rather pointedly, "by tradition, **their** heir then takes over the Fortress," Spock tilted his chin downward, referring to himself, "and assumes guard duties for the city of Shikahr, our clan seat. It is an anachronistic position given the clans of Vulcan are no longer at war. But it is what was expected. First from my parents. And when they move to the palace, then of me."

Kirk drew up at that.

Spock glanced across at his companion. "Jim. I **should** have been expected to stay on Vulcan. After-"

"But the marriage didn't **happen**," Kirk said. "And you didn't choose to stay. There's no reason for you to remain now. Once you're recovered—" Spock's eyes met his with no change of expression. "You **will** recover." Kirk waited a beat. "There's no reason why you **shouldn't recover**, is there?"

Spock looked away.

"There **isn't**," Kirk insisted. "I **know** you. And Spock, you said it yourself. There aren't any enemy clans coming over the Llangons to attack Shikahr. Tradition or not, Vulcan doesn't really **need** you to hold that particular Fortress now. I'm sure you're wanted here for other legitimate reasons. But that's not one of them. And you **are** needed on the _Enterprise_. You have a commission. You signed on for the mission. And **I** need you."

"There are any number of competent-" Spock began

"What are you saying?" Kirk said. "Can you tell me that you don't **want** to return to the _Enterprise_?"

Spock just looked at him, and then looked down.

"I didn't think you **could**. Maybe there are competent Firsts who **could** serve. But I want **mine." **

"I know." Spock said in a low tone. But he didn't continue.

"Can't you tell me what's going **on**? What's prompted this attitude?" Kirk waited a beat. "I guess you can't. Or you **won't**."

"I am not trying to be …to be difficult, Captain."

"I'm sure." Kirk set his teeth. "And you clearly don't want to talk about it. And McCoy would jump all over me if he knew I was badgering you. I don't mean to push, Spock. Unless, unless you **need** a push. I'm half tempted - But right now, I'm just trying to understand. To help." He pounded a fist on the instrument panel in his frustration. "But I guess we'd better postpone this discussion."

"We should land," Spock said. "T'Pau will be waiting."

"And I suspect she's not used to that." Kirk leashed his temper with difficulty and landed next to Sarek's flyer. Spock's parents were not in evidence, having moved on. Kirk was grateful for that, to give him time to regain his countenance. "I'm sorry. I was out of line."

"There's nothing to forgive, Captain."

"Spock-" Kirk looked at his first officer, half in plea, half in demand and seeing Spock give not an inch in his manner, forced himself, once more to let go, and deliberately changed the subject. "This still seems a lot of house for one person."

For a long moment, Spock didn't move or look up, as if resistant to move on himself. But whatever he wanted, or didn't want to say, he couldn't seem to get it out. After a moment, his shoulders dropped, and he gave up trying, and let himself be steered onto the new topic. "Yes. It's past function was as a clan seat, so it is large. Some clan gatherings are still held here. Though now, most of those are generally carried out over communication devices. Only ritual traditional gatherings, where custom must be followed, are held here."

"Your relatives don't want to live here any longer?" Kirk asked.

"My clan holds it very dear. But their logical preference is to reside in more modern and convenient dwellings. The Palace is an anachronism as regards modern Vulcan." Spock glanced at Kirk. Deciding he was past his previous mood, he relaxed a little and led the way through a maze of garden flowers, statuary and fountains, "They prefer to avoid the inconveniences of residing within it on a daily basis, as my family must. There have been discussions for some centuries about sealing these sites hermetically and thus forgoing the need for ongoing maintenance. But Vulcans generally believe our historical past must be integrated with the present in order for us to fully master our heritage. And as clan leaders, that task, among others, falls to my family."

"It doesn't seem much of an inconvenience to **me**. To be honest, it looks pretty damned luxurious."

"I suppose it might. Still, there is less privacy. One must have staff, to maintain the structure. Modern alterations are restricted, in deference to retaining its historic presence. And of course, now there are **tourists**," Spock added with a long suffering tone. "But it is mostly that, to a Vulcan practicing the disciplines," Spock frowned slightly, "_'Enough must be as good as a feast'_, as the Terran saying goes. It is considered a dangerous path to walk, to depart even slightly from the Vulcan disciplines. Most Vulcans shun anything close to it. They would prefer to leave all of pre-Reform Vulcan, all of **this**," he nodded to the building around them, "strictly in the past, except for certain rigidly observed ceremonial occasions."

"Except for your immediate family," Kirk mused. "Why yours?"

"In part it is because we are direct descendents. In part because it is generally considered that those whose ancestors led us from those warlike paths have the greatest ability to handle the juxtaposition of these ancient elements with modern Vulcan life, and to interpret the mix of the past with the future. And in past because most Vulcans simply don't want the ...contamination...of dealing with the reality of that past. They yield it to the clan leader - to Sarek. With that responsibility also traditionally has gone dealing with outworlders. First with the Vulcan Alliance, and then the larger requirements of negotiating with the Federation. All while still keeping Vulcan values intact. It can be a very difficult balancing act. At least I believe my father may have found it so at times."

"When he married your mother."

Spock glanced at him. "Yes. I suspect so. Though he has rarely spoken of it to me. He seems however, to have managed that integration and yet remained Vulcan."

"And you thought you needed more data, to manage it yourself," Kirk said, with sudden insight. "And so you joined Starfleet."

"That was my reasoning. In part." Spock frowned. "Though McCoy's reasoning is also correct. Starfleet was a ... a **safe** place for a Vulcan seeking to know the Federation at large. With a hierarchy of structure, regulations and discipline that one merely had to follow to be integrated within. Much less daunting, in some respects, than merely attending some other university. In some respects, Starfleet is a bit of a machine. And all its members are cogs within its wheels. We all have a place. We **belong**, if only to our particular wheel."

"You can **belong** wherever you want to, Spock. And if some Vulcans never accepted you, in some part, then it was their loss."

"It is true, that Vulcans can tend to be resistant at times, to outworlders. But Starfleet has not been wholly welcoming either, in some of its members. Still, I have been largely content there. " He looked around. "Just as I have always had a certain...fondness for the Palace. I was always pleased to reside here."

Kirk looked from Spock to the estate. "You lived **here** too? I thought you've always lived at the Fortress?"

"I lived here only when my parents had to travel on diplomatic assignments. Or when they could not care for me. Generally I went away to school. But sometimes, I stayed here." Spock paused. "Once an offworld epidemic ran rampant through my boarding school. Many of my classmates died. I became very ill as well. T'Pau had me removed from there and attended here. Even after I recovered, and the epidemic was controlled she did not return me. I stayed until my parents returned from their travels and collected me. Nearly half a standard year." He blinked, as if dismissing that memory. "Though naturally, T'Pau had me tutored."

Kirk snorted at that. "Of course. Wouldn't want you to fall behind."

"But in deference to my illness, my scholastic duties were relatively light. I had plenty of time to explore. I had already explored every part of the Fortress, so the periods that I lived here offered more opportunities for that kind of investigation. I came to know T'Pau, and the Palace, very well." He thought about it. "Although I did miss the fruit from home. T'Pau keeps gardens of a sort. Vulcan gardens. But until recently, no Terra-formed ones. I wonder if she has raspberries. A salad of raspberries and rose petals would go very well now."

"I don't think I've ever heard you talk so much about **food**," Kirk said, amused.

"I seem to be always hungry," Spock said, as if perplexed. "I'm very hungry **now**."

"Well, let's find you some dinner," Kirk said.

Winding their way through the gardens, they caught up with Sarek and Amanda. Kirk gave a flinty eyed look to their elaborate dress, now that he was aware of its origins, but he couldn't see much difference from any other formal dress.

"Pretty fancy place this," McCoy said, greeting them as they threaded through a maze of hedges and fountains toward their destination. "Big too. This is one place where I'd need a trail of bread crumbs to find my way out." They went around a last corner, and there was T'Pau.

"Indeed. Then if we wish to retain thy services, Dr. McCoy, it is a simple matter to withhold the key to retrace thy steps," the Matriarch said.

"I always think it's best not to importune one's physician, ma'am," McCoy said and bowed. But she only gave him a glance before she turned to Sarek, who managed to kneel to her and still make the ritual seem as if he wasn't giving an inch, meeting her eyes rather than bowing his head, and with his shoulders set back and square. T'Pau nodded to her son, but her eyes were on Spock. Amanda went next, and where Sarek made his ritual obeisance seem like a challenge, Amanda's made her seem like a dance, going gracefully to her knees and looking up at T'Pau with genuine affection. T'Pau didn't touch fingers to temples as she did with Sarek. Instead, leaning on her staff, she kissed the top of Amanda's head, and as the latter rocked gracefully back on her heels to rise, the matriarch caressed her cheek.

T'Pau then turned to Spock, impatiently, as if only Vulcan discipline had made her deal with the previous formalities. "I did not think that thee could appear before me in more dire straits than thee had the last time we met. Come here, Spock."

"I regret causing you concern," Spock said, and knelt to her, with none of Amanda's grace or Sarek's power. He bent his head for her mindtouch. For a moment it almost looked as if he were going to submit to something that he had fought shy of with every healer, and Sarek too. But though he held still for it even as her fingers came with millimeters of his temple, at the last moment, he made a strangled sound in his throat. Though still remaining where he knelt, he ducked his head to avoid her questing fingers. Then he froze, as if appalled at his own lack of control.

T'Pau looked down at Spock. "I have heard something of these troubles." With her other hand she touched her fingers under Spock's chin, to bring his eyes to hers. "I will touch only with fingers, not with minds. Till thee are well again." She brought the fingers back to his temple. Spock closed his eyes and tensed but this time, managed to hold still for that brush of fingers against the area still burned and scarred from the mindsifter. T'Pau then ran her aged fingers through the black silk of his hair, the one feature essentially unchanged since before his captivity. "Very good. Damaged. But not broken."

"I hope not," Spock said in a low voice.

She sighed a little. "All touch, mental and physical, seems to have been of torture to thee. That is too severe a lesson even for a Vulcan to bear. We must discuss this. There must be some joy in life, lest it become a continual trial. But I have been warned - ", she glanced at Amanda, "not to discuss these things tonight." She took her hands back and nodded, dismissing him, and turned her attention to Kirk.

"And the daring Captain."

"Ma'am," Kirk said, nodding to her.

"I am in thy debt."

"I'm honored, Ma'am," Kirk said, respectful but ungiving. "But I only want to see Spock recovered and fit to return to the Enterprise."

"Indeed. Only that." She raised a brow. "So having recovered my most valued treasure, my son's only heir and mine, thee seek merely to take him away again. Or perhaps," T'Pau said archly, regarding him with the piercing humor she was known for, if rarely displayed, "Thee subscribe to the human concept that once thee **save** a life, thee possess it forever. And claim from Vulcan that which thee now perceive to be thy own by right."

Kirk drew up at that. "If I have saved Spock's life, he's saved mine a dozen times over. By that philosophy," Kirk said, "the obligation could be said to be mutual. He owns me as well."

Her brows rose at this. "Indeed. So now thee claim the bond of Warriors, to serve together through life and death. But Spock was bred for peace. Not war." She looked across at Sarek. "Perhaps I must yet acknowledge error to **thee**, Sarek. Thy concerns of eighteen years ago might have been valid. Though it may actually be that humans become too contaminated of **our** ways, rather than the reverse. Ties between warriors can be almost as unbreakable as mating bonds. It is an unfortunate complication."

Sarek remained silent.

T'Pau turned next to McCoy. "And the excellent physician. So having saved my son's life, and my grandson's no doubt many times over, do thee also claim their lives, in contention with thy stalwart Captain?"

McCoy planted his feet, and met her eyes directly. "I claim a good dinner, Ma'am. Which I was promised."

She gave a bark that might have been a laugh. "A wise man, who asks only for what was promised. Such wisdom combined with such skill as I have heard reported would make thee a mighty councilor. Perhaps thee might consider choosing to remain on Vulcan so that I could avail myself of it further? My daugher," she gave Amanda a scathingly reproving glance, "is too often busy with her own teachings. And I have need of outworlder viewpoints."

"Well, Ma'am, I'd never thought of such an option before." McCoy glanced at Spock thoughtfully. "But there might be circumstances under which I might consider it for a time."

Kirk choked at that, and glared at McCoy.

"To consider all options, and not reject them outright, is also a sign of wisdom. I approve," T'Pau said. "Thy friends are worthy, child," she said to Spock. "Even thy stubborn, Captain. Though I am not sure we can pay him in full as he would wish. He may need to forgive us, if we seek to remain somewhat in his debt."

She looked at Amanda. "Honored Daughter," T'Pau said, "Would that thee had given me many such heirs."

T'Pau looked across at McCoy. "Perhaps while thee are here, McCoy and so knowledgeable of Vulcans and humans, thee can consider **that** issue."

She nodded again at Sarek, but her gaze was to an equal, not a supplicant, and Sarek met hers, as coolly evaluative.

"So," T'Pau said. "To dinner."

Sarek took T'Pau's arm, McCoy found himself taking Amanda's and Kirk walked shoulder and shoulder to Spock. So no one save Spock saw the look on Kirk's face when they entered the dining hall, lit up with flaming torches, the arched ceiling of the huge room with its massive table giving the impression of baronial splendor that stopped McCoy momentarily in his tracks.

"Wow," he said.

Amanda nodded, not without sympathy. "When T'Pau chooses, she knows how to give a lesson."

They ate at a kings' bridge, the perpendicular cap of a T on the end of the longer table.

"Do you ever see this table filled, Ma'am?" McCoy asked, gesturing down its length.

"At clan dinners. But we have not had one for some time." She eyed Spock. "Perhaps we shall have one soon. Traditionally there is one after a new Heir claims Council."

Spock looked up from his meal at that, which he had been eating with the single-minded concentration of one who knows he has much in the way to make up for in calories, feeling all eyes suddenly turning to him. He swallowed the mouthful and looked around the table, eyes a little wide, as if innocently removed from their speculation.

"But we will wait for when Spock is well enough to deal with so many minds," T'Pau said, turning her attention back to McCoy. "Even Vulcans do not practice perfect shielding. Council can be an exhausting day even for marginal telepaths. I myself rarely attend Council now."

"I **have** promised to attend Council when it reopens," Spock said in a quiet voice.

"That is news to me," Sarek said from his end of the table, sounding a trifle testy, and causing Spock to give him a wary glance. "Though not unwelcome," he added, tensing a bit for all the world as if Amanda, sitting next to him had just kicked him on the ankle. At least he turned and frowned slightly as his wife, who tossed her head.

"In the garden," Spock began, "I -" he faltered, as Sarek turned his frowning gaze back to his son.

"Of course," Sarek said, giving his wife another disapproving look. "Sanjean."

Spock drew a breath, visibly gathering his control. "Not entirely. There were others there, speaking of the upcoming session. They naturally assumed I would be attending. I thought I should. But if you -"

"You certainly should," Sarek said, still sounding severe. "If you are well enough to sit through that long day."

"I believe I might," Spock said, looking down at his hand holding the utensil next to his plate. But after a moment, he laid the Vulcan equivalent of a fork down.

"Sarek!" T'Pau said sharply from the opposite end of the table. "Stop **leaning** on that child. I can sense it from here. And he's certainly not well enough for it."

Sarek gave her a startled look and looked back at Spock, who had lost color as well as countenance. Spock put fingers to his temples.

McCoy rose quickly to stand behind Spock's chair, and put hands on his shoulders. "Easy. You're all right. Deep slow breaths. In. Out. That's better, right?"

"I have had thy rooms prepared for thee," T'Pau said worriedly. "In case thee were too fatigued to return home."

"No," Kirk said. When T'Pau turned to him in surprise, Kirk flushed. "I can get Spock back home."

After a moment, Spock regained control of his breathing and shook off McCoy's hands. "No need. And I am well enough, Doctor. My shields merely...slipped."

"My apologies, Spock," Sarek said. "It was...reflexive."

Spock nodded. He'd regained the color he'd lost. "It was my fault. My barriers are not fully functional."

"Certainly not from within a parental bond," T'Pau said, still sounding acerbic, giving her son an irritated glare.

"I have heard a little something of these kinds of bonds," McCoy said. "But not much about **parental** ones."

"Naturally a parent forms a bond with a child," T'Pau said. "We are a telepathic race. For communication, assessment, affection... and discipline."

"Ah," McCoy said, regaining his seat. "I think I understand this a little better now." He glanced at Sarek, frowning in turn. "Not so much of **that**, then."

Sarek visibly flushed at this reproof from another quarter.

"After a certain age," T'Pau said, still glaring at her son, "a child learns to shield and becomes largely immune to the latter."

"Indeed," Sarek said, giving his mother an irritated glare back. It was apparent he was now on the distaff end of a little leaning from T'Pau, but was not giving an inch. "Largely **immune**."

"Sometimes unfortunately," T'Pau said, not giving ground herself.

"You know," Amanda said, breaking into the mental challenge. "I think it's time for **dessert**. Perhaps we could have it in the gardens? For a change of scene?"

T'Pau glanced at her daughter, and relented. "Very well, child."

If the baronial hall was a legacy of war-like splendor, the gardens were a reflection of the artistry that millennia of peace can lay heir to. Unlike the Fortress, where Amanda's influence appeared most strongly in the gardens, though it was evident to a lesser extent in the house as well, T'Pau's gardens were strictly formal and strictly Vulcan.

"Good lord. It **is** Versailles," McCoy said. "Sort of."

Amanda laughed lightly at that. "I always thought Versailles looked a little stingy, myself," she said in an undertone to him.

"I heard that child," T'Pau said. "Thee have yet to learn to phrase your surreptitious comments under Vulcan acuity."

"Perhaps I wasn't intending to, Mother," Amanda teased.

"Insolent child. Come do thy duty as a daughter and pour tea, since I have largely forsworn attendants this evening."

"Yes, Mother," Amanda said, mild as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, though she gave McCoy an arch look.

"As if thee could compare my gardens to that raggle-taggle thorn patch thee cultivate," T'Pau told her huffily when Amanda served her tea.

"The roses do make for good eating," Spock said, his first words since his near faint, pouring himself a cup of tea. His hands were steady.

"Then do her the honor of eating them, child. Thee mass no more than thee did at sixteen standard years."

"I'm trying," he said, with dry dignity.

"Follow in thy father's footsteps there," she added. For though Sarek could hardly be said to be overweight, he had a husky strength that emphasized Spock's weight loss, and made his son look even more frail.

"I have never lacked appetite," Sarek said, undrawn, and looking over his son with a critical eye.

"My point. Thee are too hard-headed to lose appetite over a reproof. And too confident to regard one. Nothing affects thee. Not even me. No doubt a sign of **my** failure as a parent."

McCoy tried and failed to mask a catbird grin at that, sharing the look with Jim. And even Sarek half smiled, though with his brows narrowed in vexation, he looked more impatient than amused.

"Though one can be said to **too** successful in that influence," T'Pau said to Sarek, with a nod at her grandson.

"I hardly think I can be accused of **that**," Sarek replied, somewhat testily. "Indeed, not. Or I would have prevailed eighteen years ago against the circumstances that presently plague us. Though perhaps I will prevail now."

Spock looked up at that, wide eyes moving from his father, to his grandmother, frozen under their combined evaluative gazes. Clearly that shot over that particular wheatfield had flushed him. But he made no reply in either evasion or defense.

McCoy drew a breath to shut this down right now, given the conversation had strayed into areas all the participants had agreed not to go. But he didn't need to.

For all his claims of invulnerability, his son's unguarded gaze seemed to daunt Sarek, where nothing had affected him before. "Or ...perhaps not," Sarek said. And turned away to reach for more tea.

_To be continued_


	29. Chapter 29

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 29**

Kirk came into the breakfast room panting, sweating, his irrepressible cowlick falling damply in his eyes, and bringing in the unmistakable odor of a human locker room with him.

"Jim, have you been in a fight?" McCoy asked.

Kirk caught hold of his breathing and gave them a sunny grin. "Just working out. Doing a bit of sparring."

"With whom? Spock was sleeping when I checked on him."

"Solon. One of the guards."

"You've **got** to be kidding."

"He's taking it easy on me. Don't fuss, Bones. I'm having fun. Gearing up to start sparring with Spock, and **you** surely aren't much use to me there."

"Why are you in here then?" McCoy wrinkled his nose. "And maybe you should take a shower. You're a bit earthy."

"Yeah, I'm just on my way. But those naturalists - the group that came in with Sanjean the other day? They're at the gate. Claim Spock said he might want to go along with them on their next survey or whatever."

"Well, he cannot," Sarek said repressively. "He's asleep."

Kirk looked at McCoy, then shrugged and turned.

"Wait a minute," Amanda said, frowning. "We can always wake him up and ask him."

"You suggest he be **awakened**?" Sarek said to her.

Amanda tilted her head. "Oh, for goodness sake. He's not Sleeping Beauty. Waking him won't break any dark spell. Please ask them to come in, Jim. See if they want something to drink or some breakfast, while we check with Spock. **I'll** go and ask him."

"That's okay," McCoy said, throwing down his napkin. "You look after your guests. I'll go."

Sarek looked at McCoy. "Then I will attend you," he said.

As they climbed the stairs to Spock's level, they heard the cadence of Vulcan speech behind them, as the group came in, exclaimed over the laden table and settled down to clear it.

"This is pointless," Sarek muttered.

Indeed, when McCoy edged carefully into Spock's room, reluctant to startle him awake, Spock was still out like a light, his breathing even and steady.

"How can someone who looks so innocent at the moment, cause so much trouble?" McCoy said under his breath to Sarek. "Of course, **Jim** looks like an angel when he's sleeping too. And never was anything more misleading than that."

"You're not going to wake him?" Sarek answered equally softly. "I would think rest would be more conducive to his recovery than-"

"I **am** going to wake him. But carefully," McCoy added. Before Sarek could draw breath to object he took a few steps into the room. "Rise and shine, Commander. Wake up." When Spock still didn't stir, he leaned over the bed and put his hand lightly on Spock's shoulder meaning to give him a gentle shake. "Spock?"

Spock came awake all at once at the touch, sitting up in a whirl of blankets, his hand moving for the hand covering him, even before his eyes were opened.

McCoy stepped back quickly, having been ready for that and not willing to risk his surgeon's hand being broken. "Easy." He held up both hands in mock surrender. "It's only your friendly family doctor. Plus, you've got some **other** friends downstairs who want to know if you're well enough to come out and play."

"What **are** you saying, McCoy?" Spock grumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"A group of naturalists, kitted out in desert togs and backpacks. They claim they invited you to go on some desert hike with them, the last time they were here. And that you accepted. Course they may have shown up at your door just to get a free breakfast."

"Oh." Spock blinked, sitting back against the headboard, considering that while McCoy held out the inevitable medical scanner and ran it over him. "They did offer. And I did tentatively accept."

"Well then," McCoy said, considering the results and then pocketing the scanner with a frown. "You'd better get dressed. No great hurry. They sounded very content sitting down to eat your breakfast. Though I imagine, in this house, they'll still be enough for you by the time you come downstairs."

"I cannot believe your medical assessment indicated that Spock was well enough to go on this hike," Sarek said to McCoy, as the physician left Spock to get ready.

"No," McCoy said thoughtfully, as he went back down the stairs. "It didn't. He's probably not."

Sarek's pace arrested mid-step. "Then why would you suggest it? I am no physician. But in my opinion, he will not be able to manage even half a day's walk in the hills."

"It will be good for him."

"Good for him to fail?"

"Won't be the first time he's failed," McCoy replied, unperturbed. "Anyway, a little failure never hurt anyone. Spock hasn't had nearly his share of it. He can always use a little more."

Sarek's brows rose to his bangs at this unVulcan attitude. "That I do not understand."

"What bothers you more?" McCoy wondered out loud. "That he might fail? Or that he might fail in front of other Vulcans?"

That stopped Sarek in his tracks. "You will **cease** making these insulting allegations, Doctor."

"Why would you be insulted, especially if they're not true?" McCoy leaned back against a pillared wall, folding his arms. "Fact is, I **have** seen your son fail, Sarek. Not only have I seen him fail, I've seen him fail **spectacularly**. What do you think of that? Not often, but he has. That's the thing about Starfleet service in deep space. Eventually we **all** get pitted against something bigger or harder or meaner than us, or just outside of our comfort zone. And we all fail at times. And you know what I particularly liked to see about Spock in those instances? Even before I liked him all that much? Your son picked himself up, sometimes chagrinned, sometimes embarrassed, sometimes downright ashamed. But he dusted himself off, got hold of his emotions, tried to figure out what he'd done wrong so as not to do it again, and went right back to duty. Failure at one thing wasn't a referendum on his ultimate worth in Starfleet. Oh, he worried about that. Because I believe that the way it had been for him on Vulcan. And with you."

Sarek froze at that, and turned back to McCoy, as if astounded that the physician would say that to him.

"But he didn't let it stop him. With the help of his mentors," McCoy continued, "his Captain and his friends, he gotten **past** that early Vulcan training. To some extent. So I want him to go on this hike. Especially given I've just seen his readings, and you're absolutely correct. He's not really up to it. I'll be amazed if he makes it even an hour into it, much less back."

"Then it is remiss of you to suggest that he go."

"No. Because not only didn't it destroy him, the times his foot might have slipped a little in Fleet, but he discovered something. His friends and fellow officers actually **liked** him just as much afterwards as they did before. Maybe even a little more, given he wasn't some paragon of Vulcan virtue. I want to see **that** here for him on Vulcan, if that's possible. I want him to have associates that don't expect him to be some model of Vulcan perfection. I think it will be good for him. I think it might be even better for **you**."

"You wish **me** to see him fail?" Sarek asked. "That I have **done**, Doctor. Most notably when he chose to enter Starfleet."

"Ouch," McCoy winced. "Not at **all** diplomatic, Sarek. But that only cements my resolve. If he does need a rescue, I think it would be good if you went to get him. And make it perfectly clear to him, in whatever Vulcan way you do, that not only are you okay with him trying and going on for as long as he could. But that you think it is just grand that he made the effort even if he had to yell for rescue. Because this attitude that you have that he has to be absolutely protected from ever failing and that he has to be stellar at everything he attempts is dangerous. He either works himself to death to be superVulcan for you, or he's torn up in shreds that he might disappoint you. And you're just as anxious. I'm sure it's not good for your heart. In fact, I wonder if that didn't contribute to your cardiac issues from the start."

"Anxiety is a human emotion," Sarek dismissed.

"Tell me another. I think under that Vulcan calm you are way too tightly wound. You just hide it behind Vulcan disapproval. And boy am I ever acquainted with that, from your son. Sarek, don't you realize that it doesn't **matter** if he fails?"

Sarek just frowned at that. "You understand his background. The expectations for his future."

"Surely he's already proven himself, to you and to Vulcan on that score."

"No. After eighteen years in Starfleet, there will be those who will be reevaluating him for contamination thereof."

McCoy shook his head. "I think you need to let that go. And if there are people like that, who **cares** what they think?"

"I must take that into consideration."

"No. You don't. You need to stop fighting his battles for him before he even makes it to the field. Let him fight them for himself. He is capable of that. He fought you, didn't he? And won. Who else on Vulcan can possibly more formidable?" McCoy sighed at Sarek's expression. "Or just let whatever happens, happens."

"Not possible."

"It's out of your hands now."

Sarek looked at him with narrowed eyes in challenge. "**Nothing** concerning Spock is out of my hands."

McCoy shook his head. "Look, you may have the best of intentions, I'll grant, in trying to ensure Spock's 'passing' as Vulcan, on Vulcan. But you're not thinking what it looks like from your son's perspective."

"What does **that** matter?" Sarek asked impatiently.

That stopped McCoy. "What do you mean, what does it matter? How could it **not**?"

"As a parent, one assumes certain duties. You don't ask a child if he chooses to be educated."

Above them, the door to Spock's suite opened and McCoy glanced upwards. "We'll continue this later," McCoy muttered.

xxx

When Spock came down the stairs into breakfast, wearing a desert sandsuit, carrying a little rucksack, he discovered Amanda in a rather heated discussion in Vulcan, with several of the naturalists. The conversation was intense, though Amanda was giving as good as she got, even at eight to one.

"What the heck?" McCoy asked.

"Haven't the vaguest idea," Kirk said, shaking his head, bemused. He'd showered and changed. "I'm impressed though at how she holds her own."

Amanda broke off as McCoy sat down. "I'm sorry, Jim. That was rude of me. I thought you knew some Vulcan."

"I may have given more of an impression of that than is true. Spock's taught me a little, but I've never got very far into the language," Kirk admitted. "I caught maybe one word in fifty.

"And half of them don't know Federation Standard," Amanda said of the naturalists, "which is why we **were** conversing in Vulcan. I guess we need a universal translator in here. There's one around in Sarek's office. Anyway, we were just discussing the thing most dear to their heart," Amanda said with a half smile.

"Logic?" McCoy guessed.

"Please doctor," Amanda said dryly. "They're researchers. Grant proposals."

McCoy chuckled. "On Vulcan?"

"The VSA runs on credits, or the Vulcan equivalent," Amanda said, "just like every other academic institution. I've never known them to turn up their nose at a hefty grant. At least they never have at any of mine."

"I must apologize as well," the young Vulcan Amanda had been debating stood reflexively as Sarek entered behind Spock. The rest of the researchers glanced at each other, perhaps merited since Sarek's brow resembled a thundercloud. They began to rise, except for Sarek putting out a hand obviously signaling them to hold their place.

"I suppose the new restrictions you mentioned in your last message went through?" Spock asked Amanda, nodding to the researchers and accepting the serving platters they passed him.

"Yes," Amanda said. "And **I** don't really think them so very onerous."

"But **you** have all the funding you could wish. And most of it from offworlder, Federation sources," Sidruk countered.

"Oh, that word," Amanda murmured under her breath. To Sidruk she said, "Well, they fund them because they're interested in the results, or think they will be useful to them."

"Yes, but none of that can provide funding for research into the local Vulcan fauna in which we are interested. Unfortunately our study is not considered critical enough to generate internal VSA funding."

"Have you thought about changing your research efforts into something you can get funding **for**?" Amanda asked. "Maybe tweak your interests a little bit?"

Stubbornly hooded Vulcan brows gave her their only answer.

"Hmm." Amanda considered that, "you want more funding for local Vulcan fauna, and you want to set up a permanent monitoring station in the foothills." She sat up. "**I** know. The Llangons are famous even off Vulcan. Set up a little walkthrough nature preserve."

"But Vulcans already hike the area. They don't need such a facility."

"Not for **Vulcans**," Amanda said, with fractured patience. "For **tourists**. Those **offworlders** you resent me taking research grants from."

"The fauna we are studying are common, local creatures. They're not dragons, or - "

"Goodness, Sidruk, do you **know** how many Terran tourists come here to view my gardens?" Amanda asked.

Posed with that, Sidruk turned to Sarek hopelessly, who assured him, "It's a rhetorical question. She doesn't know the exact answer herself."

Amanda flared a bit indignantly at that slight. "I could look it up. But I know there are so many that we **turn** **people** **away** every time. Can you imagine that? They come all the way to Vulcan from Terra-"

"She doesn't know how far **that** is either," Spock commented wryly.

"No comments from the peanut gallery, Spock, I am making a point here - and they stand in line to see **Terran** **roses**. On Vulcan. I mean **really**. How much more ordinary can you get than **that**?"

"They don't come to see the **roses**," Spock countered. "The roses, evaluated individually, are not that exceptional. They come to view the aesthetic beauty of the gardens. The gardens are famous."

"I thought the roses were just for eating," Sidruk said in an aside to Spock. "**Are** they aesthetically beautiful? They appear rather garish to me."

"Terrans think so," Spock muttered back.

Amanda ignored this slur on Terran flora. "My point being they are ordinary flowers that they could grow in their backyards on Terra. If they'll come on a tour to see them on Vulcan, then of course they'll come to a nature park, if you set one up right. People always think tour sites have to be wonders and marvels, but tourists like the ordinary too as long as they can relate to it. Have a few litka - they're tame enough almost to be of petting zoo quality. I'm sure Wol would volunteer to make a once a week appearance."

"**My** hawk?" Sarek asked dangerously.

"She's such a showoff, she'll love to be featured. And people would love her. Have a few more local animals, put signs up around some of the local Vulcan flora. Habitats and so forth. And you have to offer a place for refreshment. Vulcan cuisine. Something simple, that caters to human tastes. We're always getting requests to put in a tea room or something, and of course Sarek doesn't want to."

"Indeed, I do **not**. It's bad enough we must open our gardens to them," Sarek growled.

"Oh, hush, Sarek," Amanda said. Around the table, the young Vulcans lost control enough to react visibly at this casual reproof to their clan leader. Intent on their argument, neither Sarek nor Amanda appeared to notice. "If you put it on the local tour," Amanda continued, "before or after they visit our gardens, why at ten credits a head, even if you're only open for the winter, during the prime tourist season here, you'd **easily** fund your monitoring station for the whole year. And if you feed them, that will draw in those that even the nature park wouldn't attract."

The younger Vulcans sat up at this, eyes widened in surmise. "But...but they can eat Vulcan food in any establishment in Shikahr," Sidruk ventured.

Amanda tilted her head, in gentle pity. "Oh, Sidruk. They **don't**. They eat in the Interstellar, or in the Federation Plaza, or in the Shikahr Hilton. In the human-run places, that cater to tourists. They are too intimidated to go into a Vulcan restaurant. They don't speak the language and they don't know what to order. But they'd love a place where they could eat Vulcan food that caters to humans, with local Vulcan dishes, from the local produce such as we produce here, with menus written in Federation Standard and little pictures of the Vulcan produce the dishes are made from. In fact, T'Jar could run it. She's been looking for something more challenging than being T'Rueth's assistant. And she certainly knows all T'Rueth's menus well enough. Sascek's hill farm is close to the area that you are working in. He could provide you with your produce. In fact, he could do a little side exhibit on Vulcan farming as well, or you could add one. It's a perfect solution. And then you'd be wholly independent. You wouldn't **need** VSA grants. "

One of Sidruk's colleagues was providing a rapid fire running translation of Amanda's comments back to those associates whose Federation Standard wasn't up to the discussion.

"If we could," one of them said in Vulcan, with dawning realization.

"Of **course** you could," Amanda said. "It makes perfect sense. But," she added reprovedly. "If you are going to give tours to tourists, you'll **have** to learn Federation Standard."

"A fate worse than death," Spock said, head down, _sotto_ _voce_, with a suspicious quirk in the corner of his mouth.

"Quiet, you," Amanda muttered back, bopping him lightly on the top of his head with a fist. Spock sat up a little, feigning innocence under this reproof.

"But," Sidruk said with an uneasy glance at this odd interaction. "The area we are researching is on **your** lands."

"But it's already a designated nature preserve. Set aside as common ground. No one is using it for anything else. Vulcans hike through it all the time." Amanda turned to Sarek. "Why shouldn't they set up a little tourist venue on the edge of their proposed monitoring station? It wouldn't take all that much room."

"It's an interesting proposal. But we are already surfeit of tourists," Sarek dismissed.

"But it wouldn't be **more** tourists, Sarek. It will be the **same** tourists. And only on the days they visit here. They'll just detour a bit before they leave. And it's for a good cause."

"You'd have to site it carefully," Spock said consideringly. "So it didn't impact the ecosystem. We maintain that area as a wildlife sanctuary because it **is** a natural game preserve."

"If it's sited just on the edge of Sascek's hill farm, well, that area is already cultivated. And with the monitoring station and nature preserve behind it, there would be minimal impact to the sanctuary. If Sascek doesn't mind-"

"I am not really all that interested in whether **Sascek** minds," Sarek said, staring meaningfully at Amanda. There was a pregnant silence while eight Vulcans, one human female, and three Starfleet officers eyed Sarek.

Spock raised a brow but kept his head low, striving to fly under the radar, He had pulled in the corners of his mouth in an expression that might have been grim or might have been concealing a smile. Across the table, the naturalists looked at each other and waited.

"Write it up," Sarek said finally to Sidruk, without taking his steely gaze from his wife. "And I will **consider** it. But for now," he did turn his head to the guests at his table. "I think you already **have** a task, which you are neglecting to linger here in idle conversation."

It was a clear dismissal. Thus reproved, the naturalists scrambled to their feet. Spock finished his tea and rose as well, moving to follow.

"Spock," Sarek said, obviously not intending him to be dismissed as well.

The younger Vulcan paused and looked a question.

"Are you quite sure you are recovered enough for this…expedition?"

"Oh, I thought I'd go along," Kirk answered cheerily for Spock.

"Captain, you are **surely** not acclimated enough for this," Sarek said.

"Well, then, if either one of us gets tired, we'll come back," Kirk said, giving Sarek a significant hooded glance. "I am sure **Spock** won't mind coming back a bit early for **me**, will you, Spock?"

"No, Captain. Just as I am sure **you** would not be averse to coming back early should **I** require it," his first officer answered, not at all taken in by Kirk's device.

"See? I'm acclimated enough for that, aren't I, Sarek?" Kirk asked silkily.

""I have no idea," Sarek said, giving up in the face of their determined unprompted collusion to save face for each other.

"A little walk in the fresh air and sunshine will be good for them," Amanda said, coming back with something T'Jar had brought to her. "Here, Jim," she handed him a rucksack similar to the one Spock had picked up. "I **know**. You do new planetfalls with nothing more than Captain's braid and a profound belief in the nearly omnipotent power of Starfleet. I've heard it all before. But a little water while traveling Vulcan's Forge is not a bad thing to have."

"We'll yell for rescue," Kirk said, slinging the pack over one shoulder. "If we need it."

"Today being one of my days to stay at home," she said, gesturing to the casual clothes she was wearing, "I will be available for pickup duty. Of course **you** could stay home with your long suffering mother," she added to Spock, "who hardly **ever** gets a chance to see you, but I suppose you'll be back early this afternoon anyway. No one lingers in the Forge between noon and sunset except true desert nomads."

"Which we are not. We will be back before midday," Sidruk assured her.

"Stop by for lunch if you care to," Amanda said.

"Amanda," Sarek warned under his breath, though probably not soft enough for Vulcan ears.

Amanda feigned deafness to Sarek's comment. "Be **careful**, all of you," she said to the departing group. "You two especially," she said to Spock and Kirk.

Spock did the Vulcan equivalent of rolling his eyes. "Mother."

"What? Try and deny that you stir up some sort of trouble almost wherever you go? He," Amanda pointed to Kirk, "picked a fight with Lauresa his, what, third day here?"

Sidruk gave Kirk an awed look as they walked out. "Lauresa? Really? And you **survived**?"

"Let's go, let's go," Kirk said, in a command tone, not wanting to revisit that issue. "Move out."

Sarek watched them troop out, and turned on Amanda. "That is **not** what I wanted to see happen."

Amanda folded her arms. "I am not going to fight with you about this. It's **so** ridiculous."

"He is not recovered enough for a desert hike."

"Can you possibly have forgotten that you sent him out on a desert survival trek, all on his own, when he was **five**?"

"He was prepared for that. Conditioned. And there were monitors."

"Well, now he has his stalwart Captain by his side," Amanda said, turning away. "Star of Starfleet and Federation. Leading light of the galaxy. I am no fan of the Forge, but I think between the two of them, and with a posse of naturalists in tow, they'll somehow manage to make it through our backyard."

"And those are not the associates I would have chosen for Spock."

Amanda blinked at that. "Well, I didn't choose them either," she said reasonably. "They came along with Sanjean that day. But they seem harmless enough. If a little insularly minded."

"You haven't discouraged them either. In fact your manner was distinctly **encouraging**."

Amanda rubbed her forehead. "They're just going for a hike. Stop thinking like a diplomat. Not **every** casual association is a prelude to forging a lifelong political alliance."

"And in that vein, nor is Sanjean someone I think appropriate for Spock."

She flared a little at that. "I don't see **you** bringing home anyone for him to associate with."

"Given he's barely mobile, would not you consider that somewhat premature?"

"Oh, I don't know. Sick or well, isn't he getting a little old for you to choose his friends?"

"That doesn't seem to have deterred you."

"Honestly, Sarek, we're talking **Council** members. Vulcan Science Academy researchers. They're not juvenile delinquents he picked up from the dark side of the galaxy."

"They're not even Starfleet officers," McCoy put in lazily from his side of the table.

Both Amanda and Sarek looked at him as if they had forgotten he was there and hadn't left with the others.

"Indeed," Sarek said, after a moment.

Even Amanda's brows rose at that. "I get that your miffed at me, Sarek," Amanda said. "Though I am still not quite sure why. But you don't have to be rude to Leonard."

"Actually, I was a little out of line, myself," McCoy said, shamefaced. "I am too used to Vulcan-baiting Spock. Even that is questionable. But I have no excuse practicing it on you, Sarek. Sorry."

"You could apologize too," Amanda said to her husband.

"I am going to work," Sarek said, rejecting that hint. "Where there is at least some attempt to approach issues from a perspective of **logic**."

"You never finished breakfast."

"I have no appetite," Sarek said.

McCoy considered pointing out the interesting fact that Sarek was directly contradicting himself from the night before. But then he decided it wasn't conducive to his own continued longevity. And he thought sourly about how Sarek had sidestepped his demand that he pick Spock up if the younger Vulcan couldn't make it back under his own steam.

"He likes to get his own way, doesn't he?" McCoy commented, half to himself after Sarek had gone.

Amanda had poured herself tea and had been sipping it, deep in reflection. She blinked and looked up at McCoy. It took her a moment to replay McCoy's words in her mind.

"Oh. No."

"Seems like he does to **me**," McCoy countered.

"I didn't mean that," Amanda said, her eyes narrowing. "I mean, **no**. **You** don't get to criticize Sarek. Not to **me**."

That sounded like a challenge, and shorn of his ability to fight with Vulcans, and spoiling a bit for his aborted intentions over Spock, McCoy sat back and studied Amanda. "Don't I?"

"I **love** my husband," Amanda warned McCoy. "And while I may not agree with all his decisions regarding Spock, he has made them with Spock's best interests in mind. I wasn't perfect either. And lest it shock your sensibilities, neither was your dear colleague. Our poor beleaguered child was often quite a handful."

"Amanda," McCoy chided.

"Don't _Amanda_ me, Leonard," she warned. "Just because you are on the edges and listening in, doesn't mean you know everything. You don't."

McCoy sat back in challenge of his own. "Enlighten me."

"No." Amanda shook her head. "You **don't** get to do this, Leonard. I appreciate what you are trying to do for Spock. But you're not here to criticize or analyze us. You don't need that, to help Spock."

"Oh, I don't know," McCoy said, and slouched back in his chair. "Maybe I don't. But it does make it more interesting, doesn't it? And maybe I do, just to make sure Spock is well settled."

Amanda tilted her head. "I suppose bereft of your 430 crew members, you can't help but headshrink everyone else around you."

"Now don't you go psychoanalyzing me," McCoy warned her.

"I don't really understand," Amanda said. "Spock is important, to Sarek and myself. And to Vulcan. But to Starfleet, he's only just another officer."

"Not just, and only. There's only twelve Constellation class Starships in the Fleet. Your son is First Officer of one of them. A hair's breath away from making Captain. There aren't many officers at his level." Seeing her skeptical gaze, McCoy added. "Oh there's lots and lots of gold-braided desk bound brass: Commodores, Fleet Admirals, people that manage Starbases, lesser ships and such. Starfleet is big. But **Starship** Command is different. Much, much different. It's a small, and very select few."

"Maybe so," Amanda said. "But I'm sure officers have been hurt before. And I'm sure most don't rate having a Chief Surgeon detailed as their personal physician."

"I'm on leave," McCoy said.

"No. You're not. I don't really understand it. I mean, Spock has resources, a home. Parents who love him and would care for him. Why all this exclusive attention? It's not that I'm not grateful. But it **can't** be standard practice."

"Fleet takes care of its own."

She shook her head. "Not like this."

"You can't imagine that Jim would leave Spock. And he won't. Not if Spock needs him. If Spock can't return, **he'll** have to send Jim away to get him to go. And even then, Jim might not listen. They're close friends. Combat does that sometimes, to those who ship together."

"I didn't ask about Jim. I asked about **you**."

"You don't get to shrink **me**, Amanda."

"Don't I?" she echoed him. "Sometimes I think you're more possessive of my son than Jim is. And that is going some."

"He's my responsibility now, more so even than Jim's."

Amanda just tilted her head. "It's more than that."

McCoy shrugged and gave in a bit. "I tend to mother-hen my patients too. Jim and Spock in particular, because they **are** so frequently my patients. They're always getting battered around one way or another."

"I don't think so."

McCoy sighed. "All right. I haven't always been the best of friends to your son. I may not even have been the best physician I could be – at times, I've been, well, unprofessional with him, to say the least. I've given him a hard time, more than I should." McCoy's eyes were turned inward, thinking. "You know what the service can be like. If Spock can't be reinstated, then once I leave, I may never have a chance to follow up on him again. Hell, Fleet's dangerous, and I may never even **see** him again. So before I do walk out that door, I want to be sure I've made the best decisions I can for him as his physician. If this is the last thing I can do for him, I owe him that much."

"You can't imagine that we – Sarek, and I, even T'Pau, wouldn't do the best **we** can for him."

"I know that. I just don't know if that's what he needs."

"What can you mean?" Amanda puzzled.

McCoy came out of his reverie and shrugged. "Maybe I'm just being pessimistic. It can be a bad habit of mine."

"He seems to be doing so well. Well enough, anyway. Better than when he first arrived."

McCoy shook his head. "Superficially, yeah. But I can't get through to him. Jim can't get through to him. He's getting really frustrated over it. Nor have you and Sarek. You know that, don't you?"

"You're the one who's told everyone to back off, not badger him."

"But he's not giving an inch. There's something **wrong** there. I can **feel** it. I just can't figure it out."

"It's just…too soon," Amanda said. "You said yourself."

"And I was probably right. For anyone else, I **would** be right. Of course, no one else would have made it out of there, Jim's rescue notwithstanding."

"He needs time," Amanda said.

"He's running out of time," McCoy said. "By Starfleet's measure, anyway. I've said to Jim, to you, that I don't want him pushed. And I don't. Yet. I'll wait till after your party. But next week, I'm going to have to start pushing."

"Why can't you just leave him be," Amanda fretted. "If he's not ready."

"It doesn't work that way."

"Hasn't he been tortured enough?"

McCoy sighed at that. "Actually it's really very simple. If he continues to refuse to cooperate, if he rejects reinstatement, and resists therapy, then he's **out**. Starfleet will replace him. They'll do what they can for him, put him on inactive duty for a time, offer him a ground posting if he wants that. But that's **it** for him. He just has to say no. And if he **does** tell me no, in no uncertain terms, then I can't force him. And you get your wish. I'll leave him alone." McCoy looked vexed. "Though I'll have a damn hard time keeping Jim from going after him. He's not going to placidly accept that from Spock. I'm sure not looking forward to being in the middle of that scenario."

Amanda looked torn. "Do you think Spock will say no?"

"I've been trying real hard to give him the benefit of the doubt. Time. Space. Understanding. But to be honest, Amanda, he hasn't tried to really cooperate with me on his reinstatement. So from that perspective, he may not have said **no**, but his behavior has been nothing **but** no since he's come back. It's really not like him. I didn't expect it to go on this long. I just can't figure it."

"Maybe he just doesn't want to go back, and doesn't want to admit it."

McCoy shook his head violently. "That's not Spock. If he's made that decision, he'd fess up to it. He's not the type to string me along. And he would never do that to Jim."

"Still, his ...resistance... tells you something. Doesn't it?" Amanda asked.

"Yes," McCoy agreed. "It tells me **what**. But not **why**."

"Must you know why too?"

McCoy shook his head. "Legally? No. But I sure would like to. I surely would."

But as it turned out, McCoy didn't have to wait until next week. He discovered the truth that very night...

_To be continued..._


	30. Chapter 30

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 30**

The Vulcans set a steady pace climbing up into the foothills. Kirk was glad he'd taken his triox that morning in preparation for his sparring with Solon. But rather sorry he'd done the sparring. One hefty workout on Vulcan a day could be considered enough for a human.

The foothills rose so abruptly from the side of the Fortress that for half an hour, Kirk had no breath for anything but lugging his body up a mountain against Vulcan's heavy gravity. But he'd been acclimating for the better part of a week and he was otherwise in superb condition. After some initial protests from his muscles, he discovered he'd developed a second wind. Still, struggling up a particularly steep and stony part, Kirk went sliding backwards in the uncertain footing. The Vulcan ahead of Kirk reached out to grab for him, but unlike Kirk's usual experiences with Vulcans, this one missed his hold.

Kirk yelped as his body surrendered to the wicked downward momentum that a falling object going down a sharply inclined slope on a heavy gravity planet could attain before he slammed into a presence and a warmth as familiar to him as his own name.

"Going somewhere, Captain?" Spock murmured in his ear as he absorbed his impact, digging in his heels before they both went tumbling.

"I guess not if **you** can help it." Kirk said, gasping for breath.

"Careful," Spock said, setting him back on his feet. "A fall here can break bones. McCoy would not be pleased."

"Right. Thanks for the rescue," Kirk added. "I guess you **are** feeling a bit better."

The trail then grew positively wicked, precluding conversation. And everyone, including Spock, did a bit of inadvertent sliding. Kirk's muscles were screaming for a rest, and he was breathing like a bellows, when the ascent leveled out a bit, and the Vulcans in the lead finally paused.

"This is our first monitoring area," Sidruk said to Spock. "We'll pause to gather readings here. You can assist or-"

"I think we'll just catch the view," Kirk said, striving to speak without wheezing.

"I'm sure there's Triox in your pack, Captain," Spock said under his breath when Sidruk was out of earshot.

"I'm sure I need it," Kirk said, and settling on a convenient boulder, paused to survey the view and sling his pack off his shoulder.

Inside was Triox, sunscreen, a floppy sunhat - tissue thin but bearing a respectable SPF rating, bottles of water and a coolpack to keep the water if not cool, then at least not hotter than his own body temperature. Also the same vitamin-laced citrus candies Kirk had seen in the other pack, a piece of fruit and a cereal bar. Kirk put the coolpack to his forehead before he even bothered with the Triox. "Did I say before that I think I love your mother? Boy, this feels good."

Spock took the pack from him, not bothering with the one slung across his own shoulders, took out a dose of Triox and opened one of the water bottles. "Take this, Jim."

"Um." Kirk put the coolpack against the back of his neck and chased down the Triox with the contents of the bottle. He paused to look at it. "This tastes better than water."

"It has electrolytes in it, to aide in fluid replacement."

Kirk offered the bottle to Spock, who shrugged and took a polite drink.

"Don't you want more?" Kirk asked.

"That blend is meant for humans. And I am bred for this climate, Jim," Spock said, handing it back and looking out over the hills.

"It **is** a gorgeous view," Kirk conceded, swigging the rest of the bottle. "You wouldn't think it would be, all reds, oranges, browns, but it is."

Spock turned to him. "Why not?"

Kirk shrugged at that, embarrassed as he tried to explain. "Sorry. I just don't think of Vulcan as being, well, you know. **Scenic**."

Spock raised a brow at that.

"No personal reflection against your planet," Kirk assured him. "A hundred square miles of Iowa cornfield isn't scenic to me either."

"The color range of my vision perceives it a little differently," Spock replied, with a bit of an edge to his voice.

"The air's so thin up here, you can see from Shikahr almost to the spaceport," Kirk said, his eyes narrowing.

"I can see Sirakvui easily," Spock said. "That spaceport has always been rather an eyesore. There have been proposals for a long time to move it further away from Shikahr. It has grown too large and intrusive."

"Aren't you being rather provincial, Spock?" Kirk asked, grinning.

"It **is** my province," Spock said.

Kirk chuckled at that. "I guess it is. Somehow I never took you for that. We're **spacers**, Spock," Kirk said, turning serious. "A home port is always beautiful. But home or not, it's just a **port**. It's not the stars. All planets are just lumps of rock. However gorgeous."

"If you say so, Captain," Spock said dubiously.

Letting that go, Kirk leaned back against the boulder and sighed pleasurably as a breeze wafted them. "At least it's cooler up here."

"Six degrees. The temperature will drop precipitously the higher we climb," Spock glanced at him."But Eridani's rays are also more lethal to you, and your skin is not as naturally protective against them. You should wear the sunscreen. Or at least the hat."

"How much farther you want to go?" Kirk said, taking out the hat and using it as a fan before dropping it over his face and peering out underneath the brim. "We don't want to yell for help, do we? I mean, it would be kind of embarrassing to have to be rescued by your **mother**. I can probably go another hour or so. After all, going **back** is all **downhill**."

Spock stretched exploratively and nodded. "I estimate I can match your stamina. I have been too long confined to a sickbed, but I am finding it is good to move."

Kirk nodded, pleased at that sign of progress. "It is a nice view," Kirk repeated. "But not as pretty as a star field," he added. "Don't you agree?"

"From the bridge of the _Enterprise_." Spock clarified, with a twist of his lips.

Kirk shrugged from under his hat. "Even from the observation deck."

"The star field view there is often quite engaging," Spock allowed.

"Pretty as it is from here - and with the thin air the starview here is damn impressive even at ground level, **I'm** looking forward to seeing the stars from the _Enterprise_ again. Aren't you?"

"You are fishing, Jim," Spock said, without heat.

"Guilty," Kirk said, "as charged. "I just want to know if my first officer is here with me. As well as my friend who likes the look of his province."

"As McCoy would say," Spock answered refusing to bend to that device. "It is early days for that."

"Spock, I know you went through hell this past mission. But don't you think it's past time we -"

"If you are asking about my status or details relating to our last mission's encounter with our adversaries," Spock said with sudden severity, "then you know I am not at liberty to speak of those outside of Federation Security interviews. And if you are asking for specifics on my recovery, I remind you that I am on leave. And as my superior officer, your inquiries, should you put them to anyone, should be with McCoy."

Kirk frowned at that rebuff and it took him a second to leash his temper. "I know you can quote me the regulations, Spock. I'm talking about an area **outside** of regulations."

Spock lowered his head stubbornly, "_Quis hic locus, quae regio, quae mundi plaga_?1 What world could that be, Jim? It is not one whose customs **I** traverse well."

Kirk waited for a moment, mulish in turn before he worked through his stubborn temper. "All right."

"If you wish to return now-"

Kirk sat up and tossed the hat aside, "Don't be such a **prig**, Spock." Kirk waited a beat through the silence that retort entailed and then tried a half smile. "I mean, I thought I had **cured** you of that. All that overly Vulcan officiousness." He gave him a scapegrace glance. "At least a **bit**, anyway."

Spock flicked a brow, but the tension between them had relaxed. "Apparently not, Captain."

"So I was out of line, and you called me on it. As you generally **do**, when I am out of line on Fleet regs. I can always count on you for that. Though you don't generally get quite so huffy so fast. Don't make a Federation case out of it, will you?"

Spock let out a sigh. "Captain. I do regret-"

Kirk put out a hand. "Don't say it. You don't need to apologize; not to** me**."

Spock still hesitated. "I wish—" he trailed off, unable to finish.

Kirk chopped off the uncomfortable pause. "It's all right. At least you're not folding up and-" he bit his lip. "I mean, you're getting better every day," he conceded. "Look how far you've walked today. But if **I** don't push you, Spock, who the hell **will**? You need me for that. Seems like everyone **else** would be **happy** if-"

Spock rose. "I think it is time to be moving again, do you not? I will check on Sidruk."

Kirk pulled himself up and followed him, not willing to let it go. But just as they came across their companions, two dark shapes appeared in the sky overhead.

"Look," Kirk said, pointing a finger at a pair of birds with huge wing spans, that flew over their heads. "I sure hope those are friendly."

"They are predators," Spock said, eyes narrowing. "But they don't prey on Vulcans as a general rule. They must be mates, since they are together. This is their territory."

"Look out!" Kirk called, and ducked as one of them swooped in. He reached out to snag Spock's legs from under him and pull him down too, but still gazing upward, Spock sidestepped Kirk without looking at him and held out his arm. The huge bird lofted itself down, its wingspan larger than a grown man's two outstretched arms, and landed lightly on Spock's forearm, cruel talons curling around it to grant it a secure perch. It then made an absurdly chicken-like cluck of greeting.

"This is Wol," Spock introduced her to the Vulcans and human still flattened on the ground. "She is my father's hawk."

Kirk got to his feet. The other Vulcans, who had also dove for the sand, rose cautiously as well. Wol had bent her huge head for Spock to preen the neck feathers that she couldn't easily reach. Spock struggled to remove a stubborn new prickly feather sheath she presented that she had apparently landed to seek his assistance with. Above them, her mate screamed in warning and defiance but was too intimidated to come closer.

"She won't hurt you," Spock said to Kirk as he came up to them.

Wol glanced at Kirk and warbled a warning at him, but didn't seem too alarmed at his tentative approach.

"Just don't make any too sudden moves, Jim. She knows my mother, and she probably recognizes from your scent that you are a similar creature. Not knowing your fearsome reputation, she is discounting you. But while she is quite tame with those with whom she is familiar, those who know how to approach her, she **is** a wild animal."

The other Vulcans came closer as well. Wol did take objection at this. She backlifted, beating her wings without releasing Spock's arm, causing Spock some difficulty in keeping to his feet. She screamed her defiance at the knot of naturalists, who paused deferentially a safer distance away.

"She is a little warier of Vulcans," Spock explained. "Since our scent is instinctively known to her as being that of another predator."

"Why does she let **you** hold her?" Kirk asked.

"**She** is holding **me**," Spock said ironically. "And she could easily slash me to ribbons if she chose. Note the size of her talons. But she knows me - I have met her before when I have been home on leave. And she is very fond of my Father. So I get a pass, as you say. She is also fond of Sascek, and some others." Spock finally succeeded in freeing the troubling feather sheath he'd been struggling with, that had been poking into the soft skin of her neck. Wol warbled in gratitude as the irritation was taken away. Above them, her mate, circling down closer, screeched a peremptory demand. Wol drew her head down, butting hers against Spock in clumsy affection, before releasing his arm and backlifting her great wings, this time with a force that staggered Kirk on the edges of it, and knocked Spock right off his feet.

Still on the ground, Spock looked up as she joined her mate and flew away.

Sidruk picked up the hefty feather sheath that Spock had helped remove. "How do you say it in Federation Standard?" he asked rhetorically. "_Wow_. I did not know, before today, that there **were** any tame hawks on Vulcan. There are legends..."

"Yeah," Kirk said with feeling, offering Spock a hand, since he seemed content to sit on the ground forever. "Wol is _Wow_ all right. You okay?" he asked Spock. "You're a little slow getting up."

"She stunned me, momentarily, when she butted heads," Spock admitted as he let Jim pull him to his feet, shaking his head a bit as if to clear it. "So that when she backwinged, I was caught unawares and stumbled. And I am a little fatigued. That is all."

"But your head just swam? You didn't lose consciousness, not even for a bit?"

"Are you seeking McCoy's role in his absence?" Spock asked testily. "I said it was nothing."

"You know that if anything happens to you, he holds me responsible," Kirk said. "I don't want to face Bones **again** if-"

Spock gave Kirk a sharp look, and for a moment, Kirk blinked, "I meant - I didn't mean-"

"When your mother spoke of a **tame** hawk, I did not really believe-" Sidruk said breaking into their conversation, still raptly gazing skyward at the two distant specks of the departing pair. Spock glanced at him. "I mean, humans always **exaggerate**," Sidruk continued. "They don't know-"

Spock raised a brow. "My mother has helped care for Wol since she was a fledgling. Wol that is. Being human and not of an avian species, of course my mother never **was** a fledgling. She **knows** Wol very well."

Kirk swallowed a smile at Spock's _not my mother_ defensiveness and the way he was deliberately pulling the Vulcan's leg. "I think what Spock is saying is 'never underestimate a human'. But that was some encounter. She's a fantastic creature."

"It was nothing special," Spock said, brushing sand off his clothes and straightening his tunic. "Wol just needed a feather sheath removed that she could not easily get to herself. And her mate, who should have attended to it, was obviously remiss." He squinted up at the red sky. "We should go. The sun is advancing. If we don't move soon, on the down-slope we will encounter crippling heat."

There was only one more monitoring station, and the climb, while steep, was not too bad after their break. When they reached the summit, Spock closed his eyes and 'meditated' in the shade of a convenient boulder, though to Kirk's eyes he looked to be napping, while they let the naturalists do their thing. When he woke, Kirk got him to drink a bottle of water, warning him he'd snitch to Bones about the head bump if he didn't. When they'd finished their work, Sidruk and the others gathered around them and brought out their own water supplies, and they pooled the shared contents, the young Vulcans unreservedly eating everything in the Starfleet Officer's packs, leaving only enough water for an emergency on the return trip. It was logical, given anything remaining they'd have to carry back when they were already fatigued.

Then they headed down the mountain. It wasn't as taxing going down in heavy gravity as it was going up. But it was hotter on the lower slopes, much hotter than it had been when they'd ascended, and more dangerous. Sidruk himself pitched forward on one particularly loose slope, and only saved himself from bashing his head against a rock by Kirk grappling his tunic. And Spock had both feet go out from under him on the same nasty stretch, though all that happened to him was an abrupt fall to his posterior. He rubbed his tail bone meditatively upon rising, and limped for a few yards, but then shook it off.

They were all extremely hot, tired, thirsty and hungry when the high stone walls and parapets of the Fortress finally came into view. And Kirk could forgive the naturalists' previous initial instinctive following of Sanjean into the cool gardens to freeload a drink. The way he felt, he wouldn't care if the Fortress was populated by Romulans. It looked like an oasis of civilization after their rough trek, and his feet would have been drawn into it regardless of any invitation or lack thereof.

Their coming must have perceived by the guards as they tramped down from the foothills, and been relayed to the kitchen staff, because an even better spread was laid out in the gardens on their return. Kirk had kicked off his shoes, and was cooling his feet in one of the fountains, ignoring the ornamental fish that nibbled hopefully at his toes. He had knocked back two glasses of iced grape juice before he thought to ask. "Why in the world do you **walk** up that hill? Why don't you just take aircars?"

"We're naturalists," Sidruk said, astonished at the question.

"But you take aircars here, to the foot of the hills," Kirk argued.

"A host of aircars landing in the Preserves would frighten every living creature away," Spock said, who'd been consuming bread and jam with quiet absorption. "Besides there are no really **good** landing spots there. And cross currents and wind shears make it dangerous."

"Well then, you could beam there," Kirk said. "Anyway, taking a nosedive down a mountain **isn't** dangerous?"

All the Vulcans, including Spock, looked at each other in confusion. "This is our way," Sidruk said finally. "We're Vulcans. We like to walk."

Kirk rubbed his sunburned forehead. "Vulcans like to walk," he echoed. "Presumably when you aren't flying a shuttle at Warp 22?"

"Humans don't like desert hikes?" Sidruk asked Spock, sidstepping Kirk's puzzling question as being just another odd human saying.

"Some humans do," Spock said, looking across at Kirk. "But rather than be planet bound, Starship Captains **do** prefer to fly."

Kirk drew a breath to contest at least part of that, but then closed his mouth and met his First Officer's eyes with a narrowed gaze of his own.

_To be continued..._

1 Hercules Furens: The Mad Hercules, Seneca Act 5 Line 1138


	31. Chapter 31

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 31**

Later that afternoon, Kirk was doing laps in the pool when he noticed the flash of not one, but two flyers, coming through the forceshields. He looked across at Spock, who had accompanied him to sleep in the sun in a lounge chair. Kirk had tried to get him to swim but Spock had shivered at the suggestion and adamantly refused.

"Looks like your father is home. And probably McCoy. It must be dinner time."

Spock woke up and turned over, looking at the landing flyers. "I could eat."

"When can't you?" Kirk teased.

They caught up with McCoy in the formal gardens leading to the house. "I see you got home in one piece," McCoy noted, looking them both over. "You didn't need to yell for help?"

"Ye of little faith," Kirk said loftily.

"Well done, Spock," McCoy said, with a mock salute to the Vulcan. "I confess I'm a little surprised. You must have really pushed yourself."

Spock just looked at him without comment.

They caught up with Sarek when they entered the garden door, but they didn't have a chance to talk, because it seemed an entirely different Fortress lay behind it this evening. Music greeted them, a pair of acoustic guitars sounding point and counterpoint in a mellifluous riff, beating against the stone walls. Above that, the sounds of water running and splashing, various thumps of dishes being taken down and moved. And above all that, Amanda was singing, human high spirits apparently unrestrained by Vulcans or Vulcan conventions.

McCoy gave a glance to Sarek, but rather than manifesting disapproval, the elder Vulcan had a gleam in his eye, and his shoulders dropped a fraction. Spock seemed even more unphased, as if this were a natural everyday occurrence for him.

The breakfast room was empty, but Spock simply pushed through to the kitchen, formerly that bastion inhabited solely by Vulcan servants. Before them the long kitchen table had been half set with silverware and glassware for a casual meal. And as they walked in, Amanda turned from the counters and gave them all a dazzling smile.

"You're all home!"

"Obviously," Sarek said, but without any edge of Vulcan criticism in his tone accompanying his observation.

"Perfect timing too. I just about have dinner ready and was thinking about how to call everyone in."

"It is the usual time, is it not?" Sarek asked.

She picked up a stack of plates she'd been taking down and crossed over to continue setting the table. "Having no clock in my head," she leaned up as she passed Sarek and kissed his cheek, "I'll have to take your word for it." She then kissed Spock, who had crossed to the stasis unit and was foraging around in it. Spock gave her a _don't kiss __**me**__, I'm Vulcan_ look, which she resolutely ignored and which he was too intent on foraging to continue further.

"You can eat whatever you like Spock, but dinner **is** ready. You'll just have time to get cleaned up, before things will be on the table" She smiled at Kirk and McCoy. "I warn you both not to expect much. I am the world's **worst** cook, especially compared to T'Rueth."

"Spock mentioned something about that," Kirk said, with a wry smile.

"Did **he**?" Amanda asked Kirk clearly surprised. "**Did** you?" She said to her son. She seemed more delighted than offended, and as if to confirm it, laughed with Kirk. "Don't worry," she said to her guests. "Today, I'm making Terran dishes, that even **I** can't ruin too badly. I figure you can use a break from Vulcan, or quasi-Vulcan cuisine."

"Did you fire all the servants?" McCoy said, grinning back.

"Only temporarily," Amanda said. "I kick them out a couple of days a week, just to remind everyone here it's still **my** kitchen." Her dancing eyes narrowed briefly, as if in challenge. "**You** know how **Vulcans** are. You have to skirmish a little just to keep them off balance. Otherwise, they tend to conquer everything around them."

"Is that true, Spock?" Kirk teased, infected by Amanda's sheer exuberance. "Do I need to worry about the con if I leave you with it too long?"

"Certainly not, Captain." Spock said with classic Vulcan innocence. "My mother exaggerates entirely."

"I think T'Rueth knows well that it is your kitchen, my wife," Sarek said, subtly turning the subject back from Starfleet.

"Oh, T'Rueth's happy enough, now that I've given her a dinner party to prepare," Amanda said.

McCoy, Kirk and Spock vanished to clean up and Kirk to get out of wet swim trunks. When they returned, the music had been turned down more in keeping with Vulcan hearing, but not turned off, and food was on the table. Amanda was preparing a last dish, singing softly, while Sarek watched with amused complacency. McCoy noted that his behavior toward his wife was precisely Spock's to his human colleagues, when he was manifesting Vulcan amusement over some human foible.

"The apple never falls far," he noted _sotto voce_, but no one paid him any attention.

Spock settled down at what presumably was his usual seat at the table, and as Amanda brought over the last platter and Sarek moved to his place as well, McCoy and Kirk took the last two seats.

"We are eating entirely _en famille_ tonight," Amanda warned her guests. "So if you want something to drink that isn't already on the table," Amanda said, passing a dish around, "I'll let you fetch it yourselves."

Spock looked around the kitchen, probably the first time he'd been in it since his arrival home, given the Vulcan staff was usually in residence, and his eyes narrowed, as if he just recognized something was missing. "Where are our sehlats?"

"Oh!" Amanda paused, stricken. "I didn't think. Sascek took them to the hill farm at the start of the growing season. His crops were getting inundated by litka predations. But I can have him bring them back tomorrow."

"No," Spock shook his head, serving himself with no skimping in spite of Amanda's warning about her foods' barely palatable nature. "I was just wondering where they were."

"You can always go and see them," Amanda suggested. "Sascek would love to show off his accomplishments."

"I suppose I could," Spock said, with a glance at Sarek.

"When you are well enough, it would be appropriate for you to tour the tenancy," Sarek said. "But there is no certainly no urgency to the matter."

McCoy took a cautious bite, and grinned hugely. "I think you're just being modest, Amanda. This is really good."

Amanda took a bite too, and her eyes closed as if in bliss and she grinned. "Not bad. T'Rueth is an excellent cook, and she puts me to shame. But it is hard to cook for different species, and I do like my own recipes for a change. Or it could just be that I'm hungry."

"You always exaggerate that aspect of your skills, my wife," Sarek said mildly, not stinting his own plate as he served himself, in spite of Amanda's claims.

"Or lack of them," Amanda said. "And I don't think so." She pointed a fork at Sarek. "This poor man is a **saint**. When I think of how he must have suffered, with the terrible meals I used to dish up. And **he** used to T'Rueth's level of expertise."

"Hardly," Sarek said, his own mouth curling just a little in Vulcan amusement. "Though your early attempts to reconcile Vulcan and human cuisine were something in the nature of an ... interesting experiment."

Kirk choked back something that might have been a snort, while Amanda laughed.

"Speaks the true diplomat," Amanda said.

"Not at all," Sarek said, a little line between his brows, as if in recollecting. But he was clearly relaxed, even pleased. "I thought it ...charming...if unnecessary and rather overambitious for you to attempt to maintain this home yourself."

"I **liked** it. I **still** miss having the place to ourselves," Amanda said, looking across at her family wistfully, and sighed a bit. "But I suppose it isn't very practical. I'm lucky to be able to make dinner once or twice a week these days. Much less skivvy around the Fortress like a modern Cinderella as I used to when Spock was little."

"A pity," Sarek teased. "I rather miss your Cinderella antics."

Amanda regarded him archly, having descended back into that private mode of discourse between them that seemed to disregard, if not flat out discount the presence of guests. And even, to a certain extent, of their son. The connection between them was almost palpable, even to a non-telepath like McCoy.

"Yes, but **now** that the Prince's mother-in-law has **accepted** Cinderella, things have gotten quite different for her," Amanda replied. "Having Council duties on top of everything else has pretty much killed that option."

"Speaking of Council," Sarek said, looking Vulcan again, "do not forget you must attend next week."

"How could I?" Amanda set, setting her mouth in vexation. "T'Pau's been nagging me with one thing or another about it for weeks. I keep telling her she has other _aides de camp_, but she seems to prefer to nag me. She is putting me so behind on all my **real** work."

Sarek's brows flew upward at that. "I hope you have refrained from informing her that serving as one of her advisors is not 'real' work," he said, giving his wife a wary glance. "I imagine she would take that somewhat amiss. In addition to all the other myriad counselors whose input she has discounted in favor of seeking yours.

"I'm human, not dumb," Amanda answered. "And I **know**, as your mother gets older, she prefers to deal with family and not strangers. It's nice she's taken an odd shine to me. And I certainly wouldn't want to go back to her shunning me, as she did for the first eighteen years I knew her. But she keeps nagging me about giving up teaching. I've **already** given up everything but my graduate and post doc seminars for her. I don't want to give up those. Or my research. I have grants to fulfill. But I'm having a hard time convincing her that she doesn't need **me** to be her general dogsbody, even over the aides that have served her for decades. She is being so **stubborn**, Sarek. At times, I could take a lirpa to her."

"T'Pau can be demanding," Sarek said, raising a brow over that. "But please don't."

"Family traits," Amanda commented wryly, frowning over her dinner. "Don't worry, her guard is always a little more alert when I'm around. They never have **quite** gotten used to me."

"If you wish," Sarek said, riding over that, "I will speak to her."

"Oh," Amanda looked up at that, shaking her head. "No. Just because I'm grousing isn't a tacit hint for you to ride in on your white horse to save me. I don't mean to set off an internal clan war. Sometimes I just like to vent. You don't need to get involved."

"Perhaps not, but-"

"We'll discuss it later. Please, let's not talk shop now, Sarek. I don't want to **think** about it." She half smiled at the expression on his face. "I know. Not very Vulcan of me. But tonight, I'd rather just be Cinderella with nothing more of import than dinner to make or a castle to clean. I'm **off** from all important considerations."

"If it comes to helping clean up from dinner," McCoy offered. "I'm an old hand with a dish towel. And I'm sure," he added, glancing at Jim and Spock, both steadily eating, striving to include them in the conversation, "a couple of Fleet cadets must be familiar with a bit of K.P."

Amanda smiled at him, forestalling Sarek's frown of confusion over the latter reference. "Thanks. But I really **like** my little kitchen interlude. It keeps me **grounded**. Scrubbing this castle always has. And you know what they say: a change is as good as a rest."

"Um," McCoy nodded.

"Speaking of changes and **groundings**," Amanda said turning to Kirk and Spock, "I never asked you. How is that little flyer of yours working?"

"We flew over the Sanshar Plains the other day," Spock said. "It seems quite functional.'

"Hmmm," Amanda said, shaking her head, not entirely pleased. "Not **quite** in the patrolled lanes as you had promised."

"There were no issues," Spock said. He looked over at his mother, his expression a bit more open than usual. "It was thoughtful of you, to arrange for it."

"I like it," Kirk chimed in.

"Not at all," Amanda demurred. "And I'm glad you approve of it, Captain." She turned back to Spock. "But it was your father that arranged for it."

Spock looked to Sarek, his eyes a bit wide, as if seeking confirmation of that.

Sarek avoided Spock's gaze, instead frowning at his wife repressively. "It was entirely your mother's idea."

Spock glanced from Sarek to Amanda, and then went back to his meal. Amanda looked at Sarek, wide eyed, both astonished and clearly semaphoring him some message.

"We didn't test her much, but she's a fantastic craft," Kirk interjected, perhaps attempting to take the attention off Spock. He looked from Spock to Sarek and Amanda. "**I** was thinking," Kirk ventured, "that when we return, if Spock brought her with him, she'd make a quite a nice tender for _Enterprise_."

If Kirk had been striving for a real distraction, he got it. The comment stopped the casual flow of eating and passing of dishes. Amanda turned her wide-eyed gaze to Kirk. Sarek, hand had paused, mid-gesture on passing something to McCoy, and he gave Spock a very sharp look. Even Spock looked with surprise at Kirk, then determinedly down at his plate, not meeting anyone's searching glance as almost everyone looked from Kirk to Spock expectantly. Even McCoy had to wonder briefly, somewhat miffed, if **Kirk** had actually managed to get Spock talking about returning to the Enterprise, where **he** had not.

But one look at Spock's determinedly downcast withdrawal confirmed their various suppositions that Kirk must be either fishing or talking wishfully.

"Well," McCoy reproved, frowning slightly at Kirk. "It's early days for that."

"Not so very early," Kirk said, evenly but a bit doggedly, his jaw set, turning from the accusing stares around him to look pointedly at Spock. "Just next week-"

"Jim." McCoy kept his tone light, but the warning was there.

Kirk looked back from Spock, who still refused to look up. "I just thought it was a logical conclusion." He met Sarek's gaze. The elder Vulcan didn't react at all. His eyes had a narrowed, sheeted expression and he was staring at Spock.

McCoy wished he was close enough to Jim to kick him under the table. Obviously the issue of Spock's returning to Starfleet was not a neutral enough topic for this table, at this time. And way too soon for Kirk to raise publicly with Spock and before his parents.

"Perhaps," Amanda said diplomatically into this doubly awkward moment. "But it's a subject I'm sure we can address later. I'm very glad the flyer didn't give you any trouble. That's such a relief, isn't it Sarek?" She asked pointedly, literally demanding Sarek respond politely and rejoin this dangerous topic of conversation, however obliquely.

"I expected none. From **that** quarter," Sarek finally answered, his voice nearly even. He was still looking hard at his son, but he seemed willing to forgo further discussion given Spock's continued silence. He moved again to pass McCoy the dish the doctor had put his hand out for.

Amanda said, closing that subject and smiling again as she changed to a new one with a diplomatic aplomb apparently mastered from long practice. "I tried something very experimental for dessert. But if it fails abysmally, T'Rueth has a raspberry tart in stasis. Spock, you mentioned wanting some raspberries the other morning, didn't you?"

McCoy mentally winced, looking at Spock's still downcast head. He hadn't picked up eating again. Amanda's innocuous question, meant to forcibly drag Spock back into the conversation same as hers had done with Sarek, was innocent enough. But in the tension laced moment, and with Spock's sensitivity to any questions when under stress, McCoy wondered if she was over-estimating Spock's present abilities, just as Jim had. Still, if she pulled it off, it might just save the moment. And perhaps no one knew Spock, or could quite push him, particularly in this sort of situation, like she did. McCoy wouldn't have yet dared to force him out of his withdrawal, not publicly. He'd been wondering in fact if he ought to find some excuse to remove him from the table if he didn't come out of it.

Spock looked up, wordlessly meeting his mother's gaze, and edging over to gage Sarek's expression. After a moment whatever he found there emboldened him to give a sketchy nod. When the house didn't fall in on him for that, which the tension in his shoulders seemed to imply he was waiting for, he drew an equally careful breath and said, "Yes."

Amanda nodded, pleased and placid. "You can have both desserts if you're hungry enough," she looked across at her son, eyes sparkling in teasing challenge, "**if** you finish your dinner, of course."

Spock lowered his gaze again, but this time it was to conceal a different sort of expression. After a moment, the tension in his shoulders relaxed and he picked up his fork, an ironic smile edging his mouth.

McCoy let out his own held breath, and he looked across at Amanda with a respectful nod of acknowledgement. Amanda flicked a careless brow and then looking over at Jim Kirk, gave him a sketchy frown of reproof.

But the mood had been broken somewhat, in spite of the cheerful music. And in spite of everyone's attempts to keep the conversation light and recapture the previous tone, Spock didn't contribute much to any of it for the rest of the dinner.

Afterward dinner, Jim and Spock left, both of them subdued after their long hike. McCoy lingered in the doorway, intending to make good on his offer to help clear after Sarek left - he couldn't imagine the dignified Vulcan helping, and he wanted to say something to Amanda. But Sarek had lingered in response to Amanda's pointed look.

"Why would you say that? About the flyer?" Amanda wondered. "Implying it was only me? You were part of it too."

"It was your idea," Sarek answered.

"Yes, but you **agreed**. You arranged for it." When Sarek offered nothing further, Amanda frowned. "I don't understand. Why **wouldn't** you want him to think you were part of that?"

Sarek shook his head slightly, as if irritated. "What does it matter? The issue was inconsequential. Or it was meant to be."

"I agree, in itself it's not something he'd generally care about. But letting him know **you** did something nice for him, even if it's a minor thing, showing that **you** care, isn't. Not so soon after - you know."

But Sarek still just looked resistant. "That's more your specialty, is it not?"

Amanda looked at him, face blank. "Mine?"

"You've always excelled at that sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" Amanda asked dangerously. "What exactly are you saying?"

"Popular, lenient, positions. Giving little gifts."

"I didn't do it alone. You just didn't admit it to him." Amanda squared off facing her husband. "This isn't a contest between us, Sarek. And I certainly didn't do it to be popular. I thought it was **practical**. And damn it, you **agreed**."

Sarek wasn't deterred by her stance, standing square before her, ungiving. "Nevertheless it was your thought. And it **is** your practice. For things inconsequential, but also for things of consequence – approving his interest in Starfleet for example."

"I **never** approved that," Amanda shook her head. "Not really. I just didn't try to stop him."

"But you never disapproved it," Sarek countered.

"I thought that was **practical** too, given he was going to go whether we approved or not. Was yours a better tactic, cutting him off for eighteen years? **That** didn't bring him home any sooner, did it?" Amanda folded her arms.

"Without your - and T'Pau's - support, he might never have gone. Without that continued support he might have returned sooner. Perhaps **before** he was tortured, or the many other incidents that nearly took his life."

Amanda's eyes narrowed at this challenge. "Maybe if you had shown him a little more **kindness** he would have come home."

"And perhaps if you were less concerned with being lenient, and more concerned with doing your parental duty, he would never have entertained such a ridiculous notion. That role does not entail taking the most indulgent - or the most popular – stance in a human attempt to be **loved**," Sarek returned, taking off the gloves in turn.

Amanda's face had crumpled. "That's a cruel thing to say."

"But it's not untrue in its essentials."

Amanda's eyes filled and two tears ran down her cheeks. "You can be such a **bastard**, Sarek." She threw the towel in her hands blindly at the counter, where it hit the edge and fell to the floor. She headed for the garden court door. "I'm going for a walk."

Sarek drew up at that, his demeanor changing to concern. "It's nearly sunset."

"I'm just going **out** in the **garden**. I won't go out the damn gate." She looked back, eyes narrowed. "Or do you plan to lock it just to be sure?"

Sarek did blanch at that. "Amanda-"

"What, you can be cruel to me, but you can't take it when it's dished back to you?" She shook her head and held a palm up, cutting Sarek off when he took a step toward her. "Don't you **dare** follow me."

Sarek frowned, looking after her. He picked up the towel that had fallen to the floor, and threw it in the recycler. Then when the door closed behind her, he did follow.

On the other side of the hallway door, McCoy had folded himself against the wall. Once the argument had begun in earnest he'd been reluctant to move. He hadn't intended to eavesdrop. Caught between wanting to leave and realizing if he did, his hosts would realize he'd overhead them, causing them all embarrassment, he'd just frozen. It had seemed like the best option at the moment, But now, McCoy wondered frantically what he was going to say when Sarek came out and found him there. But after a moment, the Vulcan didn't appear. McCoy straightened and peered in. No one was in the kitchen. Sarek must have gone out through the garden court door. Breathing out a sigh of relief, McCoy made for the stairs and his own suite, thinking about what he'd heard. Looking up, he found Spock had also paused on the landing. Probably, exhausted as he was, he'd taken a breather halfway up the stairs, once he'd seen Jim go into his own landing.

One glance at Spock's face told McCoy Spock's Vulcan hearing had been acute enough to catch at least the gist of the argument. But then Spock turned, expressionless, and vanished into his own suite.

McCoy hesitated, then followed.

The Vulcan was outside on the balcony, looking up at the stars. Not wanting to intrude if he was meditating, McCoy edged out the balcony doors, and stood waiting. The temperature had dropped markedly now that the sun had set. A chill wind began to rush down from the higher slopes of the Llangons. Spock glanced back at McCoy, a clear sign he wasn't meditating. Coming from Spock, recognition was essentially an invitation to talk.

"You okay?" McCoy asked.

"I shouldn't have said anything," Spock said.

"You didn't say anything. Nothing wrong anyway."

Spock looked at him again and raised an ironic brow.

"You **didn't**." When Spock didn't answer, McCoy shook his head. "Spock, all you said was-"

"I should never have raised the subject."

McCoy tried to imagine an existence where something so innocuous couldn't be mentioned. "It was your mother who brought up the flyer. Jim who brought up Starfleet." Spock didn't answer and McCoy frowned at the thought of walking that kind of tightrope, having that kind of sword hanging over simple daily interactions. That was something that had to change.

Spock must somehow have taken his silence for disapprobation. "I didn't **mean** to create contention," he said as if seeking to clear himself with McCoy. "I thought only to-" he broke off in frustration. "Actually, I **didn't** think. I should have stayed silent. I **know** better."

McCoy's eyes widened at that. "There's no need to blame yourself. It's not for you to take responsibility for their behavior. Or their problems. Spock, your parents' issues are **not** your problem. They never have been. You're entirely mistaken about that."

Spock did turn at that. "Issues? You saw them tonight. **Before** the incident. My parents…." Spock hesitated on how to phrase it "are ideally suited to one another. It is **you** who don't understand, Doctor."

"What don't I understand?" McCoy asked, sitting down, deciding this was going to be a long talk. After a long day of Vulcan's heavy gravity, he needed to take a seat.

"There's only **one** issue that has **ever** been a serious source of contention between my parents." Spock turned his head, distracted by something below.

McCoy stood up to see what had captured his attention.

Down below, the swags of roses on the arch hiding the force screen to the Terran gardens swayed more than even the night winds could account for. Amanda pushed through and wound her way through to the formal Vulcan gardens. She must have found it too cold, still wearing only the short sleeved shirt as she'd had on at dinner. She had her arms wrapped around herself.

Sarek came out of the garden door, a wrap in his hand. When Amanda saw him she stopped, looking at him truculently. She didn't say anything, or if she did, what she said didn't carry. Sarek paused a moment when she halted at the sight of him, but then he went up to her. He moved to put the wrap around her. She took a step back. They traded a few sentences and then Sarek did place the jacket over her. After a moment, he put his arm around her and they walked back into the gardens together. Spock watched them from above, judicious, calm, evaluating. As if he were a conjurer, looking down at an effect. When his parents disappeared, his shoulders dropped a fraction, as if in relief.

"You see, Doctor. The only source of argument every between them, has only, ever, been me." He sighed a little. "I should not have come home. And how can I possibly stay given this effect? Even if I don't live **here**, in the Fortress."

McCoy noted that he hadn't said, _fortunately I am not staying_, _or I will soon be returning to the Enterprise_, but just indicated, hopelessly, that he didn't understand how he **could** stay. In someone as generally precise as Spock, that was a telling statement. "You do what you need to do, what is best for **you**. And you let your parents deal. They're adults. It's their job to manage their own damn issues."

"It's my fault."

"Why?"

Spock looked at him briefly, eyes narrowed, Vulcan severe, not understanding. "It just is. It has always been so."

McCoy shook his head, surprised that Spock, a Vulcan scientist, his own tacit superior for the past three years, an expert in Vulcan logic, would come back with such a return. "Spock, that is..." McCoy struggled to find a diplomatic way to phrase it, and then gave up for blunt human phrasing, "That is a **child's** answer. A **young** child's. I'll grant you might have believed that at five or eight. Maybe even at eighteen – god knows, you must have been one sheltered kid if your father's behavior toward you this week is any example of what his was then. But you must know better than that now. Dare I say it, **you're** not thinking logically."

Spock shook his head, rejecting McCoy's comment, not even thinking it through. "What I **know** is that it is always the same. No matter what I do, or don't do. Or what time has passed." He was frowning, puzzled, but resigned. "It must be …me."

McCoy rubbed his forehead. "Oh, for - Even if your parents argue over you: now, in the past, whatever. That doesn't mean that **you** bear responsibility. Or that you did anything wrong."

"It's kind of you, Doctor-"

McCoy looked at Spock's set face. "You haven't credited a thing I've said, have you? You aren't even **listening** to me, much less yourself."

Spock just gave him an overly patient look.

"Spock, this is way out of my area of expertise. And I may say this wrong, but **someone** should have said it to you years ago, when you first took this damn silly notion. I suspect you've kept it to yourself, like a dirty secret."

Spock flushed at that. "I know what I know. I **am** the problem."

"No. You are **not**."

"**You** don't know," Spock threw at him.

It was on the tip of McCoy's tongue to say, _yes, I do_. But he remembered his promise to Abrams.

"What don't I know?" he asked instead.

Spock looked at him darkly, then shook his head fractionally.

"What terrible things do you think will happen if you stay? What's ever happened before? Your parents argued? Threatened divorce maybe?"

"Doctor, you are one of the few humans who understand that Vulcan **has** no divorce in the conventional human way." Spock looked down, lashes against his cheek, too embarrassed to say it eye to eye. "My father...**needs** my mother. And she loves him. You saw them together. If I am not here, there's nothing to cause contention. They're happy. As you can see. When I am here…" Spock shook his head. "It's wrong for bondmates to be in contention. Bad things can happen."

McCoy sighed. "What, so that makes **you** bad?"

Spock's gaze flew up to his, startled at his perception. "Unnatural, perhaps."

McCoy winced at this. "Oh, Spock,"

"I **know** I have no place on Vulcan. It has always been one long test which I could never succeed in passing. Even when I passed every test. I still never ...passed." He moved restively.

"There's nothing wrong with being your mother's son, as well as your father's," McCoy said firmly.

"I thought - I **used** to think, I had a sort of place in Starfleet. With the _Enterprise_."

McCoy shook his head. "Let's leave Starfleet **out** of this for the moment. That just complicates the situation."

Spock gave him a sharp look. "Because you know I can't return."

McCoy was startled at that. "I didn't say that. And I don't think it. I just don't want you to perpetuate this fallacy in your thinking and run back to Starfleet because of it. You're entitled to live in whatever damn world you chose. And hang your parents and T'Pau too for that matter. It's past time someone shook you out of this misconception about your place on Vulcan."

Spock's mouth twitched at that. "Yours is an apt characterization, perhaps."

McCoy was shocked. "Spock!"

"You are the psychiatrist. What is the term in your profession? A Freudian slip."

"You are so wrong. Maybe your parents have had a somewhat contentious history. I mean, think of it, how could they **not**? But even if things have happened between them, that doesn't mean that it's your fault."

Spock just looked at him and shook his head.

"I don't believe this," McCoy said. "What the hell have you been thinking, all these years?"

"I know what Sarek thinks of me," Spock said darkly.

McCoy sighed. "I don't really think you do. From my perspective, and I'm not reckoned too bad a shrink, your father loves you so much he wants to cushion the ground you walk on, just to make sure you never hurt yourself in a fall. Granted from **your** perspective, it probably seems like he doesn't trust you to do the simplest thing yourself without his dictating the where and how to you-" Seeing the Vulcan was unconvinced, McCoy said. "I'm sure he's been demanding, and critical. As your mother says, it's a family trait. But he that doesn't mean he doesn't love you. And you **know** that your mother loves you."

Spook looked away at that. Then he shook his head fractionally again.

"Damn," McCoy said, appalled past all candor. "That's ridiculous. I'll never believe that."

"At times yes," Spock conceded. "As Sarek gives **his** regard, when he has done so. When I behave as desired. But I have no desire to experience that again. Ever."

"What are you talking about?"

"On the Enterprise, when I could not go to Sarek, she told me she would hate me for the rest of my life." Spock looked at McCoy. "That I **could** finally assist Sarek did not change what had passed between us."

McCoy drew a breath. "She was scared. She lost her temper. We were all under stress. That was not an ultimate referendum on her feelings for you. Human say all sorts of silly things when we're in a temper."

"She struck me. I am a touch telepath. I know what she felt. It certainly was not love. And there have been other incidents."

McCoy was silent for a moment, hearing the conviction in Spock's voice. "All right. I grant that must have been quite a scene between the two of you. And she wasn't the only one hurting. It just have hurt like hell, and I don't mean the slap. At a time when you thought you were losing your father, without any chance of reconciliation, it must have been really painful to have her threaten to cut you off too. Between her and Sarek, I won't deny you've certainly had it rough, at least at times."

Spock gave him a chary look. "I am not seeking sympathy, Doctor."

"That's not entirely my point. I'm sure its seemed to you that when you did what your parents wanted - and given they are so different, to please one must have been to lose the regard of the other - they accepted you. And if you failed to please, you were shunned for eighteen years, or damned. It must have been hard growing up in that kind of environment. And I'm sorry. And your parents should have been a little smarter about it. But my point is, that it's **still** no reflection on you."

Spock looked out over the gardens, emotions locked down, untouched, unmoved. Unconvinced.

McCoy rubbed his forehead. "Spock, this is going to sound really condescending. But sometimes, things happen between adults, and their kids just get caught in the middle. You're not the **cause**. It's **their** problem." McCoy shook his head in frustration seeing Spock's unchanging expression of skepticism. "I still haven't made a dent, have I?" He sighed wearily. "I suppose if you've believed something for thirty odd years, it's a bit much to expect someone saying the opposite **once** will have a magic effect. But you're wrong. You're entitled to whatever place on Vulcan you chose to accept. Starfleet aside."

"I'm tired," Spock said. "My parents appear to have reconciled, for the moment. And as for myself," his shoulders raised and lowered in a sigh, "I will figure something out. But not tonight. I want to sleep."

"Sure," McCoy watched as the Vulcan turned away. "Spock, did you ever think that maybe you're a little too **good** of a telepath for your own comfort? I'm sure every reproof hurt like a blow, especially when you were young. And from within that parental bond thing. But even **Jim** has had his moments with you of being less than kind. You've always found yourself able to forgive him. Maybe you need to let your parents off the hook too."

"Good night, Doctor."

"All right. But don't take these things so much to heart."

Spock closed his eyes. "Please go **away**, McCoy."

"It was good of you to talk to me, Spock," McCoy said, determined to add that. **"**You did well." He waited a moment, and when the Vulcan still didn't react, he sighed. "We'll talk again tomorrow. For now, sleep well, Spock."

Spock didn't answer, still looking out over the empty gardens.

_To be continued…_


	32. Chapter 32

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 32**

When McCoy walked down to his own room, he stopped at his Captain's suite, and leaned against the doorframe, arms folded disapprovingly. "I hope you're pleased with yourself, Jim."

Kirk put down his communicator, and scowled. "Don't blame **me**, Bones."

"You couldn't leave it alone, could you? What, a bit threatened by the prospect of a casual family dinner? Worried about Spock maybe choosing Vulcan if he and his parents could actually get along? So you had to throw a little photon torpedo into the party. Phasers on, and not on stun."

"I didn't start it."

"You **had** to raise Starfleet."

"He's been in Fleet for eighteen **years**," Kirk argued. "He's here on leave from Starfleet. It's not a frigging secret we should have to **tiptoe** around."

"But it is a sensitive issue, as you well know. And it's far from your place to bring it up, much less throw it in Sarek's face." McCoy warmed to his argument. "And if I see you, ever again, sabotage the relationship between Sarek and Spock, however flawed it might be to your eyes, I will personally drop kick you back to the _Enterprise_, where you can cool your heels until if, **if**, Spock can return. Got it?"

Kirk blew out a frustrated breath.

"And don't think I won't do it," McCoy warned. "It's arguably as important for Spock to mend his fences on Vulcan with Sarek, as it is for him to get back to the _Enterprise _on Starfleet's timetable."

"I don't agree with that."

"Jim. This is your last warning. Or after this party tomorrow night, back to the Enterprise you go."

"All right," Kirk growled. "I've got it."

McCoy sank down. "Damn it, Jim. My job here's hard enough. Spock's last mission was the stuff of nightmares, and he's still far from over it. You don't have to make it harder."

"Sorry."

McCoy frowned over at him. "I wish you were, but you're **not**. Not really."

Kirk shook his head., lacing his fingers together and flexing them, as if getting ready for battle. "I try to be diplomatic with Sarek. But, Bones, I don't really **like** him. And if he can't appreciate Spock just the way he is, then he doesn't **deserve** him. And I don't feel a bit of guilt about taking Spock away again."

McCoy looked at Kirk sidelong. "You were perfectly civil to Sarek on the Enterprise, even when he was being a bit rude to you."

"'Earthmen,'" Kirk repeated, proving he hadn't forgotten the taunt. "His wife's an **Earthwoman**. And the mother of his son. And he said it in front of her, **and** Spock, all of us, like it was some dirty word. Not to mention the nasty way he treated Spock when he came on board."

"Maybe you took that the wrong way. I mean, you **are** an Earthman. He's just being Vulcan precise."

"I took it the way he intended," Kirk said stubbornly. "Do you think Sarek didn't know I was his son's friend as well as his Captain? Do you think Spock doesn't write home to his mother? Sarek knew I was Spock's friend. That I'd take it personally. He wasn't just dissing humans. He was dissing all of us, **and** me. I wasn't about to raise a stink with him on the Enterprise, even though there were times on that mission, like when I caught him mixing it up with that Tellurite, that I had to bite my tongue. I had my duty. But he knew."

"Everyone's emotions were running high, that mission," McCoy found himself counseling twice in the same evening. "Even Sarek's. Anyway, it's not that you don't **like** Sarek."

"Don't I?"

"That's not the reason why the two of you are at horns this time. The reason you're so awful with him now, is that you're **rivals**. You both have career plans for Spock. You're both dominant command types. Sarek wants his way. You want yours. You're both of you too alike to like eachother."

Kirk scowled at that. "I want Spock's, for him.

"No," McCoy rejected firmly. "You want **yours**. Don't kid yourself that you are acting like this purely for altruistic purposes and you've got Spock's back for him. That's a lie, Jim. You weren't listening to Spock tonight. He didn't want that confrontation. You did. You want **your** way. Maybe you were being a Captain, Captain. But you weren't being a friend this evening. And right now, he could surely use one. A lot more than he could use a Captain."

"Damn it, Bones," Kirk had flushed red in embarrassment. "Go on, and make me feel worse."

McCoy sat back looking Kirk over. "I don't think you can possibly feel as bad as Spock is feeling, right now."

Kirk stood up, ready to remedy the situation now. "I'll apologize to him. I'll apologize to Spock's parents."

"Not **now**, you damn fool," McCoy caught his arm. "They were in a bit of a fight when I left them. Tomorrow's soon enough for that. And Spock was exhausted. I'm sure he needs a break from **everyone's** expectations right about now."

Kirk looked down at him. "So I have to deal with a guilty conscience all night?"

McCoy regarded him with no sympathy. "That's good for you, Jim. Maybe next time you'll think before you shoot your mouth off."

Kirk rubbed his jaw, looking grim. "I just want to go **home**, Bones. So badly. I can't wait to take Spock and get the hell out of here."

"So does Spock, I'll wager. The going home part, that is. He's just not sure where his home might be right now. And you didn't help."

"Huh," Kirk said. "Well, I can tell him that." He half stood. "Maybe I should go up right now and-"

"Down, tiger," McCoy said, rising and grabbing his arm again. "He was completely worn out. It can wait till morning." Kirk sank back down. "So what the hell were **you** doing when I came in?" McCoy asked wearily.

Kirk shrugged. "Just following up on a little research with Scotty."

"Mechanical troubles, huh? Tell me." McCoy sank back down. "I am so torn up with people troubles, I'd love to hear about some simple, prosaic mechanical problems. Not in detail, mind you," he warned. "I'm not that kind of mechanic."

"What I've been doing has been more in the nature of detective work," Kirk answered, rubbing his brow.

"Oh, yeah?" McCoy leaned back, stretching his back. "That sounds like medicine to me. All medicine is detective work. That's part of what I've been doing here, for sure. What sort of detective work have you been doing?"

Kirk sat back. "You know Spock's new flyer?"

McCoy scowled. "I could hardly forget, seeing as how your little comment about taking it to the big E, with Spock in tow, caused such a _contretemps_ at our nice family dinner."

"Well, you know, I **like** that craft Bones," Kirk admitted, leaning forward.

"There aren't too many vehicles that you **don't** like, Jim."

"This one's extra-special. And I wasn't sure that Spock wasn't going to send the damn thing back. He's barely looked at it. So I looked into what would be involved in **my** getting one. Had Scotty research it from his end too."

"I kinda doubt you could afford one, Jim," McCoy said skeptically. "A warp shuttle? StarFleet pay isn't bad, as government military pay goes, but I don't think it runs to warp vehicles, however private."

"I've got pay saved up," Kirk said, offended at this slur on his finances. "But it doesn't matter. Because you know what I discovered? You **can't** buy one. The damn thing is not in commerce."

McCoy was unimpressed by that. "You probably looked it up wrong."

"No," Kirk cut that off with a slice of his hand. "Anyway have you ever known me to look up a ship wrong? Or Scotty?"

"It's Vulcan," McCoy pronounced. "Vulcans are weird. They do things differently. A different language. Different categorizing systems. Something like that."

"No. And you know how Amanda was all worried at first about us flying it?" Kirk frowned, remembering. "Well, you weren't there when we first took it out. But you were when she asked about it at dinner. I thought she was being stupidly overprotective. I mean, we're Fleet officers and the damn thing is just an aircar. But it **isn't**. She was worried because that thing is a prototype and she **knew** how experimental it was. She knew the minute she **saw** it. It is so friggin secret its parameters aren't listed **anywhere** on **any** Federation vehicle list, but she recognized it at a glance. You know who has one? Sarek has one. Spock has one - looks like a slightly newer model than Sarek's, probably why she was a bit worried. And probably some higher ups in Vulcan Space Central, the VSC fleet patrol have them. Probably reconnaissance and patrol vessels in VSC. Because you know what else that craft has?"

"I don't know, Jim. All aircars look alike to me," McCoy said wearily. "I hate **all** ships. Can we talk about something more important then you're being put off because you can't buy a new toy?"

"This isn't a toy. What it has is **phasers**."

"There **is** something I hate more than ships," McCoy concluded, nodding his head. "The damn **weapons** on ships."

"They've saved **your** life a few times," Kirk countered. "Amanda called them light targeting phasers when she mentioned them. Just to push space debris out of the way. They're not light. Oh, they're not Starship class phasers. That pint size thing doesn't have the firepower of Enterprise, of course. But they're not _light_ _targeting_ _phasers_ either. I looked that craft over pretty close. They are darn respectable weapons. Between the speed it can generate with the warp sled on, and the firepower, that thing is – I don't know. Vicious. It could be in and out of the Neutral Zone like -" Kirk snapped his fingers, "that. Outrun a starship. It's got legs you would not believe. Hold its own in a battle against anything smaller. In fact, that's what I think Vulcans use them for- enemy reconnaissance. And I don't think **she** was ignorant of that either. I think she was being damned disingenuous. Amanda even warned me not to **try** the phasers."

"Well, she sure knew you."

"Because **then** I'd see they weren't the light targeting phasers, the navigational aids, she implied they were. And she warned us to stay the hell away from the Neutral Zone boundary side of Vulcan space. Why would she say **that**?"

"Maybe because she figures that's exactly where a troublemaker like you would take her son."

"Because I think that's where Vulcan generally uses that type of ship. You know how Vulcan Space Central stops vessels at the quadrant boundaries before letting anyone in, before giving anyone, even the Enterprise, clearance for a parking orbit? I think they warn their special prototypes and their supra Federation rated ships to make themselves scarce before Fleet vessels come in. Because we don't **have** anything like these vehicles. And they don't particularly want us to have them yet."

McCoy frowned tiredly as he listened. "So it's fast and it has phasers. So far it sounds like every other light cruiser. Next year it'll be out of the experimental phase, and you'll probably be able to buy one just like it in the Federation, and you won't need to be miffed. Who cares?"

"So I think his family **makes** them. I think they have a yard, somewhere, that builds these and other kind of craft. Maybe starships too. Sarek just made a call, and they pulled this one off the production line. That's what his parents discussed."

McCoy shrugged. "They're diplomats, legislators. They're teachers, researchers. They farm. Do some historical, ecological conservation. And maybe they build ships too. They have diversified interests. Sarek's clan is one of the main warrior ones based on their historical past. It makes sense it'd be into defense. Their interests make good economic and political sense. No one ever accused Vulcans of being dumb. Or of being shy when it comes to defense. Again, what difference does it make, especially to Spock?"

Kirk rose and moved away, to look out the terrace, up to the stars.

"Jim, **you're** the one in love with the shape of ships," McCoy said to his back. "**Spock** could care less. He can put them together and take them apart. But he has absolutely none of the romance in his soul you feel toward ships. Or that Scotty has. They're just devices to him. He doesn't give a damn about Command either. I think he's still a bit too young to develop the dominant attitude Sarek has. Maybe that'll come in time. He joined Fleet for different reasons."

"I know that, **now**. I didn't when I first met him. I mean, I read Pike's report on him. But it didn't say much on that subject. For that, you have to get to know an officer."

"Well, you do know Spock now. Maybe better than anyone. He doesn't feel about ships the way you do. In no way was that ever a lure for him as regards Starfleet."

"I guess," Kirk twisted from the starview to look at McCoy. "I **do** love the Enterprise, Bones. I love the mission, you know? The ship underneath you, responsive to the helm, the engines pulsing. The stars before her. Everyone there, at your command. It's like – there's no feeling like it in the universe."

McCoy made a face. "That's why Fleet puts men like you in command. Me now, I can't stand your tin cans and their reconstituted air and food. Everyone cooped up cheek by jowl. I hate it. That's why I doctor people and don't bus-drive ships like you do. Or mechanic them like Scotty. They don't stir that poetic love light in me."

"And I hate this damn planet. I don't care how scenic it is, how big the house, how luxurious the setting. It feels like a damn **prison** to me."

McCoy laughed. "You are such a classic Fleet captain. We should put you up in an exhibit with a sign on you. Jim, the way you feel has nothing to do with Vulcan, or Sarek, or even Spock's situation. Any residence at this point, planet, port, starbase, whatever, that didn't have at least an impulse engine on it, and a navigator's console to let you set a course, would feel like a prison to you. That's **you**. Not any of the rest of us. Spock doesn't feel like he's in prison." McCoy flicked a brow, "Though I can't say he exactly feels like he's home. I'm still not sure how he's feeling."

"Maybe Spock doesn't feel this way. I haven't been able to figure him out here either." Kirk sighed. "You know, Bones, I didn't understand Spock well at first. He's was Pike's protégé. I knew he asked to be transferred with Pike when I took command, and Fleet denied him. Denied him a bump too, so he was under Mitchell. I was always a bit wary of Spock then, knowing he wasn't under my command exactly willingly. Then poor Gary bought it. **Gary** was like me."

McCoy shook his head. "Uh-uh. There you're wrong. Mitchell liked the power of Starship Command. You made a mistake when you took him on as your First," McCoy added darkly. "He was everything you fear in a second in command. As for the romance of Command, if Mitchell told you he shared that with you, he was telling you what he thought you wanted to hear. That he **didn't** share with you."

Kirk turned. "Well, but Spock doesn't give a damn about Command either. He joined Fleet for research."

"Izzat what he told you?" McCoy said with a half grin. "Sounds like something he'd say."

"When I think back on the times – before I really knew him – that I accused him of wanting my Command. Or my ship. Hell, Bones, now I suspect that Sarek might be able to buy and sell _Enterprise_ out of pocket change. The only reason he was on her that time going to Babel, was because Federation Security had locked down the location and only allowed Federations Starships to deliver the delegates. Otherwise he would have flown himself. That's why he has a little cruiser like that, phasers and all, flying around the Federation as he does. And I think part of the reason Sarek tossed Spock this ship was a subtle reminder, that if he wants ships or a fleet, Vulcan has their **own**. I think that's why he got testy at dinner, when I mentioned taking it back to the _Enterprise_. That wasn't the reason he **gave** it to Spock. And he regarded taking it to the _Enterprise_ as a betrayal, maybe a security breach. Or something."

"I don't know about that, Jim," McCoy said. "I think you may be putting your own interpretation on Sarek's motivations. I don't think he gives a damn about ships. I think everyone was just surprised about Spock going back to Fleet, thinking he'd told you before he told the rest of us."

"I don't know. I do know Spock never mentioned any of this about his family. What they are. What they do. He still hasn't. I feel like such a **fool**, Bones."

McCoy shifted. "That's good for you, Jim. But I don't know that I agree with you about the rest of it."

"Who do you think owns Shikahr Enterprises?"

McCoy grimaced and shrugged. "You know how these family concerns are. A lot of it's probably entailed. Tied up in family trusts. Unrealizable. He may control it-"

"I'll tell you who will someday," Kirk said. "Spock. **He'll** own it."

McCoy spread his hands out, in wordless helplessness. "Well, then he can give **you** a little warp flyer, when Fleet retires and cashiers you. And you won't be a shipless wonder in your dotage."

Against his will, Kirk grinned.

"What does it matter, Jim?" McCoy continued.

Kirk turned serious. "What does it mean? It means I can't offer Spock a ship, Bones, as a lure to return to Fleet. I can't even offer him the prospect of Command. He doesn't need the first and doesn't want the second. And if he is interested in either, he could transfer to Vulcan Space Central. They patrol the Vulcan side of the Romulan Neutral Zone. They do exploration. They have ships. He could probably have a ship built to his specs. And take it home every night. He's got a darn near perfect little one sitting in his hangar now. And in spite of what you think, I **wouldn't** be surprised if Sarek gave that to him as a bribe. If Vulcans would ever be so emotional as to do such a thing. Which even I don't really suspect Sarek of doing, cold fish that he is."

"He's not cold." McCoy was listening only half attentively. "And that's not why Spock joined Fleet, Jim."

"Then why did he?" Kirk turned back to McCoy accusingly. "You're the great shrink. "You tell me how to get Spock to want to come back to Fleet and stop shying off at the prospect. Because all you can seem to think of right now is helping Spock find himself as a Vulcan. Spock as Sarek's and Amanda's son. But we both know he hasn't been **that** Spock for nearly two decades.

McCoy looked at Kirk with pity. "But that's the point. He is that Spock, too."

**"**But I know the Spock who's the Fleet officer, who knows the Enterprise inside and out, who is the best First Officer in the Fleet, who has a damn good shot at being a Federation Starship Captain in a couple of years, and who **deserves** not to have the life he **chose** taken away from him by what happened in this last mission. The **hell** with Sarek. All I care about is Spock. You tell me how to get my officer and my friend back. Because that's what I think he **would** want. If he wanted Vulcan, he wouldn't have been in Fleet in the first place."

"Oh, Jim. You're not that blind," McCoy said. "Even though you can't keep thinking of your own motivations. Spock joined Fleet to meet **you**. And **me**. And Chris Pike. Uhura, Scotty, Sulu. And even intolerant bastard officers like Matt Decker and Gary Mitchell. Spock joined to find the human element in him his father denied him exploring here on Vulcan. He joined to find friends, a place to belong. Even family, of a sort."

Kirk looked to McCoy. "He told me he joined for research."

"Sometimes, you're a damn idiot, Jim, who can't think past the end of his own motivations. He doesn't want a ship, or command. And as for research, what the hell do you think he was researching that he **couldn't** find here on Vulcan? He came to Fleet to find **us**. His humanity. Otherwise, he'd be on a Vulcan ship, or in a Vulcan fleet."

Kirk looked away and scrubbed an arm across his eyes. "Maybe I should check on him," he finally said, in a damp and softer voice.

"No. He was looking awfully peaky. I'm a bit worried about him, actually."

"Why?" Kirk demanded in a command tone.

"This was an exhausting day for him." McCoy gave him a sidelong glance. "You didn't help," McCoy sighed. "I'm going to write up my logs. But I'll run a scanner over him, before I turn in for the night. Once he's really sleeping. He was too frayed for me to poke and prod him when I last saw him. I don't think he could have stood it."

"You just can't break the habit of tucking your sickbay patients in, before you turn in yourself," Kirk grinned, amused in spite of himself.

"Even in a transplanted sickbay," McCoy agreed. "Once he's sleeping, he'll probably be out for the night. And I'll grab a quick reading. So you just leave him be. For right now, I think we **all** need a chance to back off and regroup. " He gave Kirk a fractional glare. "Now that **you** understand what I expect."

"I **said** I would apologize."

McCoy nodded. "Try to see this though Sarek's eyes. He just wants what he thinks is best for his son. And given Vulcans live well into their third century, Spock is pretty young, as Vulcans go. Not much of a tenth into that lifespan. I think Sarek still regards Spock's Fleet career as, well, you won't like to hear this, but as a kind of childish fling he had best leave behind."

"Spock's helped save the Federation and Vulcan, in that childish fling."

"Maybe so, but again, that's your take on it. He doesn't approve. But what he wants for Spock is probably just as valid from his perspective. Maybe even more so than what you want."

"How can you **say** that, Bones?"

"Because I'm not taking sides. Or, I'm on Spock's side. And until he makes a preference, I'm the Neutral Zone around him here. And you don't encroach on it, or Spock. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good. For what it's worth, I have given Sarek, even Amanda pretty much the same warning at different times." McCoy rose. "God, how can anyone ever get used to this gravity? I feel like I've lost three inches in height just from the planet compressing my spinal cord."

"**Another** good reason to leave."

"Yeah, right. Sleep well, Jim."

"Small chance of that, after **your** visit," Kirk groused.

"So I'm sorry, too," McCoy said, leaving for his own room. But he didn't sound sorry. Not the least bit.

_To be continued..._


	33. Chapter 33

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 33**

McCoy let himself into Spock's room, carefully, not wanting to disturb him.

Neither in a healing trance, not meditating, Spock was fast asleep, human style, eyes closed, on his side with arms wrapped around the pillow under his head. But in spite of McCoy's attempts to be silent, Spock opened his eyes before McCoy had even edged the door shut behind him.

"Sorry," McCoy said, keeping his voice low. "Though I guess it's a **good** sign, that now you aren't so knocked out you can't sleep through a bed check. A few days ago, that wasn't the case." He didn't bother to wave up the lights, leaving the room hushed and starlit.

Spock didn't answer. He just turned resignedly from his side to his back as McCoy came up to him, and submitted to McCoy's inevitable outstretched scanner.

McCoy reviewed the results. "Humph." He sat down in the chair drawn up beside Spock's bed, and rubbed his forehead as he stared down at the scanner results. Outside, heat lightening flickered over the Llangons. "I wish I could say your scanner readings match up with your reflexes," he mused. "But they don't. And I don't much care for what I'm seeing." He looked across to Spock who had frozen into stillness. "Sorry. Not to be critical. But based on this," McCoy held out the scanner and shook his head, "you sure aren't feeling well."

Spock blinked at that, and shifted a little. "I am somewhat recovered."

"Hell, I know it's been a long day, and you're stiff and sore from that hike. But I think it's just been so long since you felt even mediocre that you've forgotten what that's like." He sat back and eyed the Vulcan. "You're too wiped to even sit up, aren't you?"

Spock shifted slightly again, as if considering proving McCoy wrong, but then sank back.

McCoy let out a long sigh, deep in thought, and then with another glance at the scanner readings, shook his head. "Maybe it's time that I admitted that what I'm doing here isn't serving you very well, Spock. You're not making near the progress you could be making physiologically if we took a more aggressive tack. Med Centers, rehab specialists. And I'm sure not making any headway on anything else," he added, referring obliquely to Spock's decision on returning to Fleet, "which is the main reason why I thought a familiar home place might be better for you." He looked over at Spock who forbore to comment on that. "Maybe we should try getting your healers back in here for a more substantial healing trance than you've been able to manage on your own."

Spock narrowed his eyes and shook his head infinitesimally.

"I know you think you're not ready for the mindtouch that would require." McCoy absently tossed the scanner from hand to hand as he thought. "This," he held up the device, "can tell me something of how you are. But not all of it. Nor what to do. And I'm the last person who wants to push you Spock. But I'm also the only one who sees these results and has a sense of how bad you're really feeling." He set his jaw. "And I don't **like** this. Or where it is going. You can fake normal pretty well now, for a few hours. Half a day. Enough to fool a few people in this house, and maybe a little too well. I'm just not sure it's good to let you keep doing that. You could get yourself in real trouble. And these readings just aren't good enough to get you near the bridge much less on it. You haven't really gained any weight. You have barely gained any muscle mass." He looked over at Spock, who other than a tense muscle in his jaw, gave no evidence he was taking any of this in. "Aren't you going to argue with me?"

Spock gave him a cool look and didn't answer.

"If you still don't want Vulcan help, maybe consider some human methods." McCoy held out his hands. "You're going to have to tell me what you want."

"What I want," Spock echoed. He looked away from McCoy out to the distant Llangons.

"Sure." McCoy looked him over. "You're not a prisoner now. It's really up to you."

Spock didn't answer, his gaze focused on the heat lightening playing along the peaks.

"Spock?" McCoy asked. "Are you still with me?"

Spock didn't turn. "Have you seen my father's hawk?" His eyes cut briefly to McCoy, who shook his head fractionally. "Her name is Wol. My mother named her," he added, as if in explanation of that. "From the King Arthur story."

McCoy smiled. "Right. That sounds like your mother."

"She had a damaged wing, so he brought her here as a fledgling, and she grew up in the gardens," Spock's eyes had narrowed, almost as if he could see the raptor flying among the peaks. "Now she is strong, and she often does fly away for long periods, to hunt and mate. But she always returns."

McCoy wondered what Spock might be trying to tell him, however obliquely. Did he see himself as a broken hawk? "Perhaps she's happy here," McCoy ventured.

"Perhaps she knows no other existence."

McCoy thought about that. "That's not true of you. Perhaps she considers it her home." He looked over at Spock, lying still, eyes fixed on the distant storm. "Are you worried about your parent's expectations? About Jim's? Or Starfleet's?" McCoy sighed a little. "Spock. Those are all secondary anyway. I know they've all been squabbling over you for the past week."

"**Over** me?" Spock asked, as if startled by that.

"I forget you've been asleep through a lot of it," McCoy mused. "But **forget** them," McCoy ordered, dismissing them with an abrupt hand. "Can you tell me what **you** want?"

Thunder rumbled again.

"How can I?" Spock said very softly.

"How can you **want** anything?" McCoy ventured. "Or how can you **tell** me?"

Spock looked at him then. "I ...can't think."

McCoy leaned forward a bit. "That has always been one of your problems, Spock. You think too much. How about if you **don't** think about it. Just **feel**. Then tell me what you want."

Spock didn't say anything, unmoving, unblinking. After a long moment, as if his eyes had burned in the dry air, a tear edged to his lashes and caught there, too scant even to spill. McCoy froze, almost sorry he had said what he had. He hadn't expected that. _This is what pushing a Vulcan gets you_, he mentally castigated himself. _And if you aren't ready for emotions of one sort or another, you had better not push._

"It will be all right," McCoy breathed forcing himself not to reach out and touch in the automatic comfort he'd extend to a human. "You're home. Safe. You will get better."

"Home," Spock said, ironically.

"You **are** home."

Spock shook his head again, fractionally.

"What?" McCoy said. He looked around the room, gestured out to the surrounding suite. "This looks like your home. These look like your things. You grew up here. Or do you think you are dreaming? That this is all an illusion and you're still back in that cell?"

"No. But **you** are dreaming if you don't believe I am less fit for life here, then I was before I left for Starfleet. And I wasn't fit then. And now, Starfleet is closed to me."

"Closed to you?" McCoy echoed, startled by that.

"You know it. You just said so." Spock met his eyes, puzzled and frustrated. "Why doesn't **Jim** know that?"

"**I** don't even know that," McCoy answered, mystified. "I suggested you could use some **help**. Spock, not that you - why do **you** think that?"

Spock just shook his head fractionally again.

"Starfleet's not closed to you. You just have to-" McCoy paused, suddenly understanding, and then took a measured breath, "go through your reinstatement."

Spock nodded fractionally. "And I can't."

McCoy eyed him. Medical ethics warned him it was wrong to push. Fleet exigencies might have dictated another course. And yet maybe it was time. "Can you tell me why?"

Spock shook his head slowly, human-style, right to left.

"Can you try?"

"I can't."

"Spock," McCoy began, leaning forward, reaching out, taking a risk.

"Do you not yet **understand**," Spock suddenly flared at him, half rising to move away from McCoy's gesture, eyes stormy.

McCoy drew back, wary, only too well aware that even a wiped Vulcan could wipe the floor with him. He held up his hands in a surrendering gesture, letting Spock know he wasn't going to invade his personal space by touching. "Try **helping** me understand, Spock then. Tell me."

"I **can't**."

McCoy took a slow breath at this continued impasse. "I don't understand. You know you're home. Safe. Your parents, your friends, all around you. Are you still afraid-"

Spock frowned at that, puzzled. "Afraid?"

He sounded so Vulcanly normal that McCoy's breath went out of him in a whoosh of relief. "Then talk to me, Spock. You know where you are. You're not afraid. So talk."

"I can't." In spite of himself, McCoy frowned in frustration. Spock put his fingers to his temples, frustrated himself, rubbing the scars as if they pained him. "You wish me to recount it. I cannot **do so**."

"Spock," McCoy sighed. "How can I help you, if you won't talk to me. Just **tell** me. The world is not going to cave in."

Spock lay back, turning his head away. Another scant tear joined the first on his wet lashes. When he spoke, his voice was very soft. "I cannot tell you. I don't **remember**." He suddenly looked at McCoy, eyes narrowed, angry. "Are you satisfied now?"

McCoy's eyes widened at that. "But... but you got through your security debrief. You **cleared** it. You remembered **then**. You must-"

Spock just shook his head fractionally, not as much in denial as in disengagement, looking away from McCoy, his shoulders tense once more. "If you say so."

McCoy hesitated, frowning over the Vulcan's body language, then asked. "Spock. You **do** remember your debriefing?"

Spock looked back at him, wary, his eyes sheeted.

"Spock?" McCoy asked slowly, emphasizing every word. "Do you **remember** your debrief?"

Spock shook his head again. "No. Not at all."

"Damn," McCoy echoed softly. "**Damn**!" He sat back at that, mouth open, his eyes unseeing. So many thoughts were going through his head, he could hardly think. Mentally castigating himself for not realizing Spock must have had a really serious issue to fight his reinstatement tests so resolutely. Wondering how he himself could have missed the signs or reasons. Trying to imagine what it must feel like to a Vulcan, to Spock, born with eidetic memory and flawlessly perfect recall all of his life, to then have a chunk of his memory torn from him. And not an unimportant chunk. One he was virtually required to remember, if he wanted to continue his life as it had been. And trying to figure out where to go from here.

McCoy came back to himself at that.

Meanwhile, Spock was frozen, watching him, waiting for his response.

"All right," McCoy held a hand out, temporizing. "Don't...panic." Spock did flick a brow at that. McCoy realized he might be panicking a little more than the First Officer. But then, Spock had had a longer acquaintance with his problem. Spock might be devastated, but he wasn't panicked in a human sense. "Whether you remember it or not, I have your debriefing release. I don't have the details, but I know you responded to your trigger codes. They cleared you, which means you had the memory before."

Spock just shook his head. "If you say so. I have no recollection."

"You might have told me. I didn't realize," McCoy said.

Spock shifted at that, uncomfortable at this reproof. "When I first woke, came back from debriefing, I was... so tired. And...and confused. And I thought, that my ...problem...was due to that. That when I was stronger, it would come back to me. But it **hasn't**. It just gets...more confused. No matter what I try."

"And you haven't told anyone," McCoy breathed. "No wonder you haven't made much progress on the physical, when you are hung up on this. Oh, Spock. What **am** I going to **do** with you?"

Spock gave him a sharp, wary look and actually managed to sit all the way up, uneasy as to where that comment might lead.

"I didn't mean **that**. Nobody's doing anything to you that you don't want. Did you think I meant I'd send you off to - But what **can** you have been thinking? You should have told me. Someone. Didn't you trust anyone?"

Spock sighed softly. "I thought I would soon remember. That I could **make** myself."

"But you knew better than to keep this to yourself."

"I know," Spock said in a low tone, drawing his knees up and leaning his forehead on them. "I **was** remiss, to delay you. And Jim. Still, it is only two weeks." He looked up at McCoy, giving what for Spock was a pleading look. "Is it **so** wrong to want that remainder of my Starfleet life? If that is all there is left to me?"

Tears stung the back of McCoy's throat at that plaintive question. "You **damn** fool. I meant you knew you should have asked for help. And that's **not** all you have left," McCoy said roughly. Then he sighed and sat back. "Though I understand your concern." He had been thinking something of the same thing himself. That with the uncertainty of a Fleet career, if Spock were left to convalesce on Vulcan, there was always the chance they would never see him again. But they were a long way from that.

"What happens when you try to remember?" McCoy asked.

Spock closed his eyes, tensing in concentration. After a moment, he put fingers to his temples in the gesture that had become all too familiar to McCoy lately. "Just...flame." He shuddered. "And I don't **want** to remember." He looked at McCoy. "I know that I must. I know it is wrong of me not to. But I just …I don't **want** to remember."

"Okay," McCoy abandoned that. "Let that go, for now. What about the last thing you remember **before** the mission," he prompted.

Spock blinked at that. The tear that had been caught in his lashes was freed to trace down his cheek, though he seemed unaware of it in his concentration. But then he shook his head.

"Well, you can't have forgotten your entire Starfleet career," McCoy said dryly, sitting back, giving Spock an exasperated look.

Spock lowered his gaze and said nothing.

"You..." McCoy caught his breath. "Spock. **Have** you?"

"No, not ...all," Spock said, shifting uneasily. "Not as **you** mean. I remember flashes. Fractured, broken pieces. When someone mentions an incident, I often can ...can **see** it." He looked at McCoy. "But not fluidly as I did before, in all its dimensions. Before it was like a picture, a moving picture, a three dimensional holograph. Myself, the Enterprise, Jim, all of it together in a meshed and seamless flow," he shook his head, his brow furrowing. "That...recollection is gone. It's like...looking in a broken mirror now. Pieces missing. Jagged broken memories." He shook his head again, eyes closing in pain. "And it hurts. To remember...I can't. It's gone. Shattered."

"But that's sort of the way human memory works," McCoy mused. "Not the pain. But we don't have that seamless holographic recollection of our pasts. **We** remember bits and pieces. Flashes."

"I don't know."

McCoy swallowed hard. "All right." He took a deep breath. "We can deal with this," he said firmly.

"How?" Spock asked. "Would Jim want a Science Officer who can't remember?"

"Jim would want you if you were blind, deaf and dumb. And right now, you have been acting all three, though I'll give you a pass under the circumstances. Don't dwell on Jim now. Let's go back to how this happened."

Spock shuddered. "No."

"Bear with me," McCoy looked at him, thinking, puzzled, "Spock, you know that you're the only officer, even the only Vulcan who didn't break, go insane or die on prolonged exposure to the mindsifter? Starfleet doesn't **quite** know how you managed that. Part of why **I'm** here is to help them with that. Because they sure want to know. Is it possible that you shoved all your Starfleet knowledge behind a locked door to protect it, something akin to your Command Training, maybe a Vulcan variation, or given no Vulcan has managed that, maybe a human hybrid version of a Vulcan discipline, and now, **now** you can't get the key back on your own?"

Spock shook his head, wondering at that too, "I don't know. I don't **remember**. I don't **want** to remember."

"Once your debriefer gave you the codes, your trigger codes, did you spill the experience back to him, as required and then, then just lose it?" McCoy asked.

"I have told you that I do not **know**," Spock grated.

McCoy sighed. "I can't even get access to those sessions. I don't have the clearance." He looked over at Spock, rigid as if awaiting judgment. "You did too good a job, keeping that from me, Spock. From all of us. But I'm glad you finally told. I was getting awfully worried. We all have been."

"You won't tell them?"

McCoy stared at him. "Your parents and Jim? Don't you think it's time that they should know? What possible purpose could serve for keeping this a secret?"

"Not yet."

"Spock," McCoy shook his head in amazement. "They **won't** think less of you."

"How could they not?"

"Oh, Spock," McCoy shook his own head in frustration. "Your worth is not predicated on how well you can **work**, or how fast you can **learn**, how useful you are to Starfleet or Jim, or how damn **Vulcan** you can act. Who the hell **taught** you that? Because I don't believe even Sarek meant to teach what you seem to have taken in of that lesson. And I wish you'd stop thinking in that convoluted, idiotic way."

Spock winced at that, but remained stubborn. "It always has been that way."

McCoy blew out a breath. "You are not only selling **yourself** short, but everyone around you. And that's a reprehensible attitude to take with your friends, your colleagues and your parents. I'm not inclined to indulge you in that nonsense." He looked across at Spock's stubbornly set mouth, and shook his head. "But as your physician, I have to respect your confidence. I can't lie to my own medical logs though."

"I know that."

"There's a good chance your memory will come back to you, all on its own. Once you recover physically, the rest could follow. You're still in terrible shape. In time-"

"But it hasn't," Spock's hands clenched. "And there **is** no time."

"Spock," McCoy said, trying to reassure, "there's still time. For a Vulcan, you are very young. You've been through a traumatic experience. You're in lousy shape. You have your whole life ahead of you to recover."

"Jim expects me to go back with him next week."

"Oh, **hang** Jim," McCoy said with impatience, exasperated that with all Spock was dealing with, he was still thinking first of Jim. "Jim's a survivor. Yes, he wants you. But he'll accept whatever decision you make, and deal with it, so long as he's convinced you want to stay."

"To stay?" Spock glanced at him.

"Here."

"But I can't stay **here**." Spock said, brows flying to his bangs as if the suggestion were ridiculous.

"What?" McCoy frowned. "Because of what happened tonight? Spock, that was just an **argument**. It's nothing compared to - Married couples fight. Humans anyway. They fight all the time. So long as they make up, it's healthy. Your mother is no doormat; your father is a legend; they both have tempers and egos to spare, so I imagine they go at it quite a bit. And about a hell of a lot more than just **you**. What would you expect of them? And even if you can't handle their arguments, if it stresses you too much to be around that, you don't have to live **here**, you know. Though it seems in a place like this, you aren't exactly crowded on top of each other. You can live somewhere else on Vulcan. With T'Pau. There's room there. Or take an apartment somewhere. You're hardly destitute."

"It doesn't matter where I live on Vulcan. The issues would be the same."

"I think you aren't going to make any progress on anything until you start telling everyone the truth. What if I help you tell them? We could start with Jim. If we tell him together." McCoy watched as Spock looked away, fists clenching. "Spock, it doesn't mean the end of anything."

"It **is** the end of everything."

"If I didn't already know you were the Vulcan equivalent of an adolescent, your taking this histrionic view of-" McCoy caught himself, biting back his exasperation. "No. I understand this must be devastating to you. But it is not the end. It is just the beginning of trying to get your life back. And Jim's not going to throw you away because you're broken, or just because you don't do what he wants. Regardless of what your parents may or may not have done in the past, Jim never would."

"How can he not?"

"Spock, you know Jim."

Spock shook his head. "But he must. He must go back to the Enterprise. Take her out and finish the mission. With a new First. And I understand and accept that. It's just…" He looked away. "I will never serve in Starfleet again."

"You can't be sure of that yet."

"I know I can't do **now** what I am required to do. I...just can't."

"And how often has that ever happened to you?" McCoy wondered with a flash of perception. "When have you ever **not** had the ability, or the drive to deliver what was expected of you? This must be a pretty devastating experience for you given that. And what has happened to you the few times you did disappoint?" McCoy added, raising a brow, thinking of Sarek's eighteen year silence, and Amanda's devastating threat and blow. "I take it back. Maybe you aren't being quite so much of a histrionic adolescent. But don't you realize that things have changed? That your parents are trying to make up for past mistakes? Can't you see that everyone here is in your court **now**? And try to forgive and trust that a little?"

Being Spock, he typically ignored the emotional subtext of McCoy's remarks and went for the heart of the matter. "What good is a First Officer, or a Science Officer who can't remember critical details?"

"Now that we know, we can try and do something about it. Get help. Deal with it. But to do that, well, I think it's better if we start addressing this. I think you will feel a lot better if you can talk about it. And when Jim knows."

Spock bowed his head under this, working visibly through his obvious resistance. Finally he said, with an air of relinquishing something precious, "Very well."

"I don't think you should have this hanging over you any longer. We'll tell him tonight, right? We can tell him together, if you need my backup."

Spock nodded, numb. McCoy could see he was already shutting down.

McCoy put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be back in a minute. _Don't_ _worry_."

Jim was talking into his communicator when McCoy paused inside his suite. But he flipped it shut after only a minute. "Just getting a status report from _Enterprise_. Everything's on schedule there. And Uhura is coming to the party tomorrow. Scotty's promised to come if he can but he can barely tear himself away from the refit so I'm ordered to make his apologies if he doesn't make -" Kirk's smile faded. "What is it, Bones?"

"Spock has something he wants to tell you."

Kirk looked at McCoy for a moment, no expression on his face as the smile he'd worn faded. Then he shook his head, already frowning and said. "No."

"What do you mean, no?" McCoy said.

"Just that. **No**. If what he wants to tell me, based on the look on your face, is what I think it is, then no. I don't want to hear it. And I don't accept it. Damn it, I **won't**."

"No. No, Jim. It's not that."

Kirk drew a shaky breath and put down the communicator, grabbing McCoy's shoulders. "What then?" He gave McCoy a little shake. "Damn it, Bones, don't play **games** with me."

"I think it's best if Spock tells you."

"I'll listen to whatever Spock has to say. But I need to hear it from you first. Bones," Kirk's face was torn, he still had his hands on McCoy's shoulders, looking into his eyes. "Bones, you know that I have to get this **right**. I can't make a mistake, not with Spock."

McCoy bit his lip and made a decision that violated part of his ethics. "He doesn't remember, Jim. The mission. The Klingons. He can't debrief because he doesn't remember. Any of it."

Kirk's face was set. His expression didn't change. As if it hadn't sunk in. He abruptly let go of McCoy's shoulders. "You're telling me Spock doesn't remember something? Spock remembers **everything**."

"It's worse. He says his memory of all his Starfleet career – the active duty, classified part of it – is…fractured. Shattered to use his phrasing. Like looking at it in a broken mirror. He can remember bits and pieces. Particularly if someone gives him a reference. Like when we were reminiscing. But his conscious fluid recollection he says is gone. Damaged, anyway."

Kirk blinked, his eyes suddenly shining. Then he turned away to look out over the distant Llangons. he swallowed hard. "How bad is that?" he asked, his voice hushed.

McCoy shook his head. "I don't know. Probably not good."

Kirk turned back. "But he can be helped. Fixed."

"I don't know, Jim. We'll certainly try." McCoy shuffled his feet. "We'd better go up there. He's expecting us, and he's really stressed over your being told."

"Over **my** being told?" Kirk said. "Why?"

"Jim. He's looking at half his life, his career, his friends, disappearing."

"**I'm** not going anywhere," Kirk said with determination, even as he passed McCoy to head for the stairs.

"Go **easy** on him," McCoy said, catching Kirk by the shoulder. He didn't manage to slow him down an instant. "Not just his memory is shattered."

"He should have told me," Kirk said.

McCoy followed behind Kirk, who was wearing a smooth, set face as if he were taking the _Enterprise_ out on a new mission. McCoy wondered what he was going to say. And he didn't envy Kirk. Whereas McCoy's role as physician was difficult, the role of a friend in this sort of circumstance could be far more demanding and stressful.

Kirk stuck his head in Spock's room and tapped on the doorframe. "Hey," he said to Spock, his lips twisting in a rueful grin. "Remember **me** at least?"

Spock looked up, stricken. "Captain."

"I made Bones talk," Kirk said, going over and sitting down on the edge of Spock's bed. He took Spock's hands in his. "Don't worry. We'll figure something out. Don't **fret**, Spock." He shook the hands in his a little. "If you only knew how many times I woke up from a rip-roaring shoreleave not even sure of my own **name**. And I still always made it back on board. So will you. But you could have **told** me."

"It was remiss of me," Spock said, looking down at their clasped hands. "I just wanted..." he trailed off.

"You can't imagine what I thought you wanted," Kirk said. "Though I couldn't believe it. You've had me so confused."

Spock looked up at that, then quickly away. "I had thought...just another week," he said, hushed. "But you will have resumes to review. Candidates to interview. A mission to continue, and because of me-" He looked up, this time meeting Kirk's eyes. "Jim. I am so **sorry**."

"Oh, Spock," Kirk said, and then the tears spilled from his own eyes, and he pulled Spock close, enfolding him in his arms.

Seeing he was superfluous, McCoy backed out. He found himself sinking down on a couch in Spock's workroom. He caught himself, wiping his own wet face, looking around, but of course there weren't any tissues handy, not in a Vulcan's room, and the fresher was off Spock's bedroom. McCoy had to settle for sniffling and using his own tunic to dry his face. "Damn Vulcans," he said. "Give you a good cry and don't have anything handy to help you mop it up."

It was later, the windows showing full dark, when McCoy found himself being shaken awake.

"Bones? Bones."

McCoy opened his eyes to find himself folded uncomfortably on a hard Vulcan couch, with Kirk bending over him.

"Whazzup?" McCoy asked. "Spock okay?"

"He's sleeping," Kirk said. "But I can't sleep anymore. Not with this hanging over us. We have to plan, Bones."

"Plan," McCoy tried to force his tired brain into some kind of coherent thought. "Plan?"

"Buy more time with Fleet. Look into experts on memory loss. Vulcan memory loss. And what about his parents? Do **they** know?"

"He didn't want to tell them," McCoy said, rubbing his sandy eyes, evidence he'd had a good cry on his own. "He didn't want to tell **you**, but I prevailed upon him."

"Let's wait on telling them, till after the party," Kirk said, thinking. "No sense to do it before then. And that's tomorrow night – no tonight, it's nearly morning. A few hours isn't going to make any difference for them. Easier on Spock if he doesn't have to go into that party with their knowing hanging over him. Meanwhile we should get those Vulcan healers back out here first. Then the Fleet specialists if they strike out. Probably get some tests done – find out if his recent memory is okay going forward, and it's only the past that's an issue, or a combination. I worry about that - he didn't remember that flyer. But then he did. I don't know. See if the issues with his shields are involved in this somehow, and how we can get **that** addressed."

"You seem chipper enough," McCoy said, rubbing his brow. "I can see the Jim Kirk I know has stepped up. He's been sadly A.W.O.L. the last week."

"Who's fault is that?" Kirk asked, eyes narrowed. "I **knew** something was wrong. Told you. You kept saying, _don't push, don't push_, but I-"

"If you're going to be that way, I'm going back to sleep."

"**You** ended up pushing, didn't you?" Kirk asked.

"I don't discuss my medical methods," McCoy said sourly.

"**Knew** you'd have to push him," Kirk said. "And I was right." He shrugged, "All this time, I've been telling all of you, that something was wrong, that he - But none of that matters. Now all we have to do is get him fixed."

"He's not a computer with a broken memory bank. It may not be that easy, Jim."

"I know," Kirk sank down next to him. "But hell, Bones, I'm just so damned glad to finally be in a position where I know what the problem is, and what we have to fight. It was the **not** knowing that was driving me crazy. Or knowing that Spock was keeping something from me that he didn't want me to know, and yet **wanted** me to know. I was going crazy from that."

"That he wanted to leave Fleet?

Kirk sighed. "That this experience had changed him enough so that he wasn't **Spock**. He was being so...evasive. Not at all like himself. And he wouldn't let me help. Now that I think **this** is all it was-"

McCoy's eyes widened at that. "Jim, don't make light of this. It's a **lot**."

"Yes, of course it is. And I know you might not agree with me, but better this than Spock having become a completely different person after that experience. That's what I worried about. I know Spock. The Spock I knew would never leave the _Enterprise_, not before the end of his tour of duty, anyway. The way he was acting at times, almost made me feel as if he had been," even now Kirk hesitated to say it, "broken. Now I have **my** Spock back. Whether he remembers every picky detail or not-" Kirk brushed that away as insignificant. "Who the hell cares? And between the three of us, we can beat this."

"Did he say he wanted to go back to the Enterprise?"

Kirk waved that away too. "Not in so many words. He was pretty stressed. We didn't talk that much. Cried on each other's shoulders a bit, if you **must** know, nosy shrink that you are, and then he fell asleep. i did too, for a bit. But we talked enough for me to know he's himself. Torn up, and scared, maybe, but **himself**. And that's all I need to know. Now we just have to get him to that point where he can pass reinstatement."

"It may not be so easy, Jim."

"I'm coming to realize that, Bones. But if anyone can put Spock back together, **we** can." Even exhausted and worried, with traces of dried tears still on his cheeks, Kirk's face was set with shining determination. "We've got all of Vulcan and Starfleet. You, me and his parents. And with Spock in his right mind and fighting for his real life, we can't **possibly** lose."

_To be continued..._


	34. Chapter 34

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 34**

The next morning, McCoy woke to enough crashes and bangs that he fell off of the narrow couch in Spock's workroom, leaping to get to Sickbay, his sleeping mind having interpreted the noise to mean he was back on the _Enterprise_ and the ship was in a red alert. Even that short fall in heavy gravity knocked the air from his lungs. He sat up on the floor, wheezing for breath, having missed both his previous night's and current morning's dose of triox. Plus none the better for having spent the entire night away from his climate controlled suite on the second floor to camp on Spock's uncomfortable workroom couch. Once he had his eyes and ears open, not just his surroundings but the cadence of Vulcan speech below - as various males in the courtyard below called back and forth to each other - let him know where he was.

He rubbed the sore hipbone that he'd fallen on and rising painfully, peered into Spock's room. It was empty, the bed made cadet neat, the lematya motif embroidered on its coverlet shimmering in gold and silver. Spock and Jim had apparently already gone down to breakfast.

When he had cleaned up and dressed, he found only Amanda downstairs. She appeared to be at the center of a whirlwind, ordering around a staff of Vulcans that seemed to have multiplied exponentially in the night. Workmen were carrying what looked like bundles of scaffolding through the gardens. Boxes and bundles and bushel baskets of supplies and foodstuffs were being stacked up on both sides of the corridor leading from the garden court door to the kitchen.

"What is going on?" McCoy asked. After his shattering night, all this activity, not to mention noise, left him a bit stunned.

"Just getting ready for the party tonight," Amanda said. She was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt; she was barefoot; her hair was braided in a single tail down her back, she had a clipboard in her hand. But for all her innocuous looks she was as in command of the forces around her as Jim was on the bridge in the middle of a battle. As some Vulcans came through carrying a large crate, McCoy flattened back against the wall, well aware that when you faced off an immovable force you tended to get blown away.

"Can I just get some coffee?" McCoy pled.

"Of course. But don't go in the kitchen today," she warned. "You'll get trampled."

McCoy sank down at the breakfast table. After a moment, the Vulcan girl that McCoy had seen before came out and brought him coffee and some breakfast selections, her snub nose wrinkled in distaste and her head turned away from the smell of the beverage. She also placed a pot of tea precisely before her human mistress.

"Where's Jim and Spock?" McCoy asked Amanda, after he'd gulped down half a cup of the burning liquid. At least Vulcans knew to serve coffee really hot.

"They went before breakfast to work out. Jim expressed the intention of pounding my son into the sand," Amanda glanced over at McCoy. "I **do** hope he was speaking figuratively."

"Oh, I don't know," McCoy said sourly. "Who can tell with those two?"

"I might have intervened," Amanda mused absently, tallying items on her checklist, "except that even as washed out as my son looks, I think he can still take Jim. Just barely maybe, but given Jim still isn't **quite** acclimated, maybe enough to get him down once."

"We can only hope," McCoy said. He poured himself a second cup, thinking of the events of the previous night. "Amanda. Where can I make a subspace call? Private. Security scrambled."

She blinked, regarding him. "You can make a subspace call from any communications terminal. But if you want something with the highest security encoding, you'd best use Sarek's office."

McCoy followed her in and waited while she brought up the communications program, tapping through various encryptions. "There," she stood back. "Up to Federation High Council level encryption."

McCoy sat down. "Thanks."

Amanda stood there, eyeing him a moment, hands clenched on her clipboard, obviously suspecting it had something to do with her son, but forcing herself not to ask. Then she took herself reluctantly away.

McCoy addressed the terminal, gave it the link codes for Starfleet HQ, and then ordered. "Connect me with Komack. Admiral. Starfleet Command."

In a gratifyingly short period of time he was facing the white-haired Chief Admiral. "Thanks for taking my call, sir," McCoy said.

Komack reached out to a control to set the pickup closer. McCoy almost wished he hadn't, and leaned back himself reflexively, even though they were parsecs apart. The expression on the admiral's face was neither pleasant nor welcoming. "I've got a Federation Starship in for a not entirely necessary refit," Komack growled. "Almost an entire crew on leave. Two Command officers down. Why wouldn't I take it? Do you know what this jaunt of Kirk's is costing Fleet?"

McCoy chewed his lip. "I need another week."

"Why?" Komack sat back. "You can't seriously believe it will make any difference, do you?"

"I wouldn't ask otherwise."

Komack shook his head. "Not _Enterprise_. She goes back into service the second her refit is done."

"What about Kirk?" McCoy asked.

"You think the _Enterprise_ can return to duty without her Captain?" Komack asked with irony.

"Scotty could take her for that long," McCoy ventured. "Give her a week's shakedown and then-"

Komack broke into that. "I realize you are not in the military chain of command, but you must realize, Doctor, that Commander Scott is not the _Enterprise's_ Captain."

McCoy narrowed his eyes. "I do think this particular command team is worth an extra week."

Komack spread out his hands. "I might agree. Except we both know that it's not going to make a damn bit of difference. Unless you think Kirk needs another week for it to sink into his head that he needs a new Exec. But I doubt he's that slow on the uptake. So what gives?"

"Maybe you know something I don't, Admiral," McCoy said testily.

"Mendez forwarded his logs to me on the subject," Komack growled. "I trust Jose. I've read all the official reports, including the ones from Commander Spock's Security debriefings."

"Well, you're one up on me. I'd like to get ahold of them."

"Trust me, Doctor, you wouldn't. That's one circumstance where rank does not grant a privilege."

"They couldn't be that bad. And I do want them. Besides, Spock **was** cleared," McCoy argued.

"He's broken."

"He **didn't** break," McCoy countered.

"Did I say he did? Never-the-less, he's still broken. No officer can come back to active duty after a drubbing like that." Komack shook his head in memory. "He'll never be fit for command again. It's impossible."

"I didn't know you were a doctor, Admiral."

Komack rubbed his forehead, swallowing hard, mind still back on what he'd read. "I've seen reports on other officers after their experience with the mind-sifter."

"Humans, perhaps."

Komack gave McCoy a wary look as if unwilling to be drawn into specifics. "Vulcans too."

"None with Command training, I'll wager," McCoy said, who had a fair idea of the Vulcan command officers in Fleet. "And Spock's different. He's exceptional."

"Is he?" Komack tilted his head. "How? You've certainly had nothing to report."

"It hasn't even been a full week," McCoy protested.

"Yet, you're asking for a third. I was against this damn fool scheme," Komack said, shaking his head, aggrieved. "Shore leave on **Vulcan** of all the godforsaken places. The Enterprise in refit. The only reason - the **only** reason - I went along with it because it was pretty clear the alternative was to lose **two** command officers, rather than one. I'd have either to discharge Kirk, or charge him with mutiny for disobeying orders. So I gave Kirk a couple of weeks to come to **his** senses. If he needs more than that, **Doctor**, then **I** miscalculated. What have you to say on that subject?"

"I'd say it sounds like you've already written Spock off," McCoy groused. "And that's hardly fair. **You** gave Enterprise this mission in the first place. **You** let Spock walk into that. You let Jim go after him."

"_Enterprise_ was the best choice for it. As for his rescue, I couldn't let Commander Spock remain in Klingon hands if I could possibly retrieve him." Komack's eyes had narrowed, his face grave. "Humans at least die quickly under that sort of torture, Klingons not being especially subtle in their methods. Vulcans don't. Nor is our command conditioning guaranteed to hold under prolonged circumstances. There's always the possibility he could have outlasted its effectiveness and he **might** have broken. And don't think I haven't taken grief from Fleet Security on that. At least we retrieved **that** situation. Though I've been told to guard against its happening again."

McCoy sat back following that thought through to its conclusion. "Surely they can't keep Vulcans out of the Fleet."

"No, but they'd be happier if they were out of the Command track." Komack brushed off his gesture. "I know. We're a **United** Federation. But the fact is, our organization and methods are designed and tested mostly for and on **humans**. Aliens don't fit into that. **Politics**, not practicality, got Spock into the Command track during a period where Fleet felt pressured to include more non-humans in command. I'll not say it isn't inevitable as the Federation becomes more diverse. The political realities are unavoidable. But practically speaking, as an organization we're not entirely set up for it yet, methods wise. As Commander Spock's career can attest. And we were just damn lucky this time. "

"I don't know that I'd call what happened to Spock lucky."

"Call it what you like. But we pulled him out, and alive too. At least we shored up that security risk and we got a good bit of data out of him. I'll admit, it might have been the wrong call to let Kirk retrieve Spock, if it means he's lost his command objectivity. I don't want to lose two officers from this. But if Kirk chooses to disregard orders again, I'll have no choice."

"What about Spock?

Komack looked exasperated. "Oh, come, doctor. Commander Spock has given enough to Fleet. I don't think we need to ask more of him."

"I'm just asking for Starfleet to give **him** an extra week to come back."

"To come back to **what**? He can't possibly serve on a ship with the possibility of action. And as for elsewhere, let's face it, Doctor, he doesn't need to pass reinstatement to be a civilian teacher or researcher - if that is his intention. Does he even have any intentions yet? Can he?"

McCoy ignored that. "I always thought Fleet took care of its own."

"He was never **ours** to begin with. You ought to know that, caught up in that family now as you are. The political realities always were that Commander Spock was going to eventually resign and take up Vulcan duties when T'Pau ordered him home. She wanted her grandson to have an insider's view of Federation and Fleet defenses, or so we assume. It just went on past anyone's expectations."

"She hasn't ordered him home **yet** has she?" McCoy asked.

"Well, we took Sarek's request as a prelude to that," Komack said, shrugging. "Sarek's never wanted his son in Fleet. We believe we've suffered some backlash at Federation High Council levels these years because of it given he's not without influence there. He was never in our court before his son enlisted, and he sure hasn't been in it after. Another reason why it might be best we let this situation lie. He made it damn clear when Spock was recovered, he wanted his son home and no excuses. And regardless of **who** ordered it this time, it's only a matter of time before T'Pau does recall him. Spock's leaving now probably works out for the best for all concerned. Fleet, T'Pau, Sarek."

"You forgot to mention **Spock** in all those players. It ought to be primarily his choice."

Komack scowled. "Can he make a choice? Has he? If Commander Spock is functional and wants to return, we'll reinstate him. Somewhere. Provided T'Pau or Sarek doesn't step up and make the consequences for us too onerous. But I can't keep the _Enterprise_ waiting around indefinitely, circling Vulcan like a yo-yo on a string, for an event that's not likely to happen. As for Kirk, he can follow orders and return to duty. Or he's not the commander for her either. The _Enterprise_ is not going to stand on hold for him. I've got a dozen sharp officers eager for that command."

"None like Kirk, I'll wager."

"Careful, Doctor. Your bias is showing."

"Maybe that's a little true. But it's also true you'd have to go far to find a better command team. And a **young** one," McCoy pointed out, "who with a little care has a long productive career ahead of them."

"**If** that were true, I might be inclined to consider it. But I warn you, the current assessment at Flag rank is that Spock has to be written off, and Kirk might not be able to cut it without a Vulcan exec to steady down his impetuousness. In fact, there are some who are wondering who really **was** running the _Enterprise_ day-to-day, given Kirk can't seem to face taking the con even briefly without Spock as his backup."

"You know that's nonsense. Anyway, isn't it an Exec's duty to manage the day-to-day running of the ship? A Captain only looks to her mission, and Kirk's always been exceptional at that. That's one reason why they were such a good Command team."

"_Were_ might be the prevailing word. Kirk has to step up and move on. And y**ou** know that being the youngest Starship Captain in the Fleet comes with a target on your back and a lot of jealousy, at the lower **and** the higher ranks. Kirk used to understand that. I can, I **will**, shield him only so much and for so long. He's got to show some initiative in keeping that command. Or he will lose it."

"Admiral. Just one additional week."

"Based on what?" Komack challenged. When McCoy was silent, the Admiral shrugged. "I'll grant Spock extended medical leave. Not discharge him. He'll have every resource the Fleet can grant him toward his full recovery. That's only fair, even though it's not like that family **wants** Fleet help with his recuperation. They wanted him back. They were prevailed upon to accept you and Kirk as guests, but as for the rest of it, they've rejected every offer we've made to place him with Fleet recuperative facilities, medical services and the like. As for Kirk, he reports back on time, ready to take orders. Or he goes. And **without** an honorable discharge. Unless you're telling me he needs a medical leave. And then I expect a full report, with specifics." Komack shook his head at McCoy's grimace. "You don't know **my** pressures, Doctor. There's already murmuring in Fleet HQ that Kirk ought to take a demotion for his actions after Spock's capture. That he might not be up for Starship Command in the wake of these events."

"Fleet wanted Spock rescued."

"On our terms. Not Kirk's. And I won't have Spock's reinstatement dictated to me by **you**."

"What if I got T'Pau to make the request for a delay of the _Enterprise_?" McCoy asked. "It's not unreasonable given the time Spock was in Klingon hands."

"Damn it," Komack growled. "Don't tell me you have **her** on your side."

"Maybe I do," McCoy said. "I saved her son's life on the Babel mission. And unlike Starfleet Admirals, Vulcans **do** understand following through on an obligation."

"Threats go two ways, Doctor. You might find yourself pulled out of there and posted somewhere very unpleasant."

"I didn't mean it as a threat," McCoy said simply. "But if the political pressures for you as regards Kirk and the _Enterprise_ become too difficult, she can provide heavy cover. And I don't think it's too much to ask."

"Doctor, what **is** going on with Commander Spock? Your reports have hardly been enlightening."

McCoy grimaced at that. He had expected to be put on the spot about this. "He's mobile," he allowed. "Physically functional as regard to basics, if understandably drawn."

"And mentally?"

McCoy sat back, reluctant to go into any detail that would compromise Komack's assessment at this stage. "He's generally oriented."

"That doesn't tell me much."

"It tells you he has the potential to serve."

"So does my three year old granddaughter. My question is, can he serve in the timeframe we're discussing? You want another week. Will it serve any purpose for me to hold _Enterprise_ in station-keeping that long?"

"I can't guarantee that. He may be showing some signs of PTSD, but they could likely be exacerbated by his physical condition, which should rapidly improve." Out of pickup angle, McCoy crossed his fingers on that. "But I believe he **wants** to return."

"Has he said that?"

"He hasn't said he doesn't."

"That's not good enough."

"He's fighting hard to recover. And with any patient, that goes a long way. And don't forget. Spock may be not terribly important now in himself, compared to T'Pau or Sarek. But remember who he's **going** to be. In a hundred years, it won't be T'Pau you are dealing with, nor maybe even Sarek. It will be Spock. You might want to think twice before dealing less than fairly with him. It's only a few more days I'm asking for."

"That's if he survives this and **is** sane. And you know there's more involved than just the extra time. This is going over my head politically. I can't make that decision in isolation. **Damn** that family," Komack muttered darkly. "I won't say yes. I won't say no. You write up what you want. **Full** reports on Spock. **And** Kirk. Submit it to me, and to Medical. And I'll consider it and submit it to the Admiralty Board if I think its warranted. And where-ever else up the chain it needs to go. That's all I can promise." He leaned into the pickup. "But I warn you, Doctor, if Kirk doesn't show up on the Enterprise ready for duty when I order him to do so, I'll **cashier** him. He'll never command so much as an ore freighter in any Federation fleet. I already could have charged him with mutiny a half dozen times since this started. And I don't need cover for that. I have about had it with James T. Kirk. And as for Spock, you may think otherwise, Doctor, but I do have a Federation to consider **this** year, regardless of what some future Admiral might be facing from Spock a hundred years from now. I've been damn lenient so far in keeping the Enterprise and its crew waiting around for one officer whom everyone with Command and Medical flag rank has already considered it **kindest** to discharge."

"Maybe we should thank the Klingons, then, for providing the opportunity," McCoy suggested acerbically, raising an ironic brow.

"All right, Doctor. You've made your point," Komack warned. "You'd better take what I have offered before I reconsider."

"I appreciate it. And you'll get your reports, Admiral," McCoy promised, even though he dreaded the writing of them. "And thank you."

"Don't thank me," Komack warned him. "I haven't promised a thing."

"Aye, sir," McCoy said, but Komack had already cut the connection.

xxx

In a lower level of the Fortress lurked a very professional gym, with sophisticated environmental controls that could be set from null gravity to 5 Vulcan Gs. Kirk couldn't imagine anyone, full Vulcan or not, trying to exercise at that level of gravity, but he had no intention of resetting the G level from Vulcan normal anyway.

Spock routinely worked out in the Enterprise gym at Vulcan normal plus point five to keep his muscles from atrophying in the Earth normal gravity of the Enterprise. Kirk joined him for a little sparring at Vulcan normal once or twice a week, to give himself an extra edge. But there was a difference in working out at Vulcan gravity, and working out **on** Vulcan. The oxygen levels alone on this planet were pretty devastating even to a sedate human on triox, much less one engaged in strenuous activity.

"I don't know about you," Kirk said to Spock, as they moved to the mats, Kirk testing the grippy surface approvingly with his bare toes, "but I'm still pretty stiff and sore from yesterday. For today, let's do a little no contact sparring. Just marking the moves.

"That sounds reasonable, Captain," Spock said.

Given the heavy gravity, they stretched carefully. Warmed up gradually, progressing to a bit of light aerobics, and then stretched again. Kirk was quietly, seriously professional about what he was doing. Not only because his ability to complete a mission often rode on physical strength and how well he could handle himself in a fight, but also because he had to balance pushing himself with the risk of injury. Particularly working with Spock. Even when Kirk could lay a throw or a punch on him, Kirk couldn't put Vulcan force behind his moves. While Spock could heal a bruise or a strain so quickly it was almost inconsequential, **he** couldn't. Conversely, where he could go full out against his Vulcan friend, Spock had to restrain his strength or risk injuring his Captain – at least in the past. Kirk had always had to balance his desire for a hard workout against the risk of impacting his duty status for a mere moment's personal satisfaction in the gym. McCoy was pretty good with a hypospray and sonics. But even so, an injury was still an injury.

They weren't on duty now, but to Kirk that consideration was almost inconsequential. Both had lived for years with the knowledge that any shore leave could be interrupted by an emergency call. So when they moved from warming up to actual sparring, it was hard to say who was more careful.

Fortunately they had a long familiarity with each other's styles. And whatever conscious memory Spock might or might not have at this point, body memory always held a more primitive and truer recollection.

Finally warmed up, Kirk bounced up from a shoulder roll, faced off against his First Officer and looked expectantly at Spock. "Ready?"

Spock nodded, eyes narrowed, intent on Kirk's hands and body language.

"Slow and easy," Kirk warned him. With an officer fresh from a captivity situation, it was always possible even simulated combat could trigger a murderous rage. He trusted Spock to know **him** through anything – one benefit of working sleeve to sleeve with a telepath was that he felt they knew each other with their skins off - but he was still going to be careful.

He made the first move against Spock – Spock was a defensive player in hand to hand as well as ship to ship, and he invariably waited for Kirk to attack first. Spock read his attack easily – it was a classic one with which Kirk often began a sparring match. Spock rolled through a hole in Kirk's guard, reaching out with one hand and tapping Kirk's ankle for the foot he could have grabbed if they were doing more than marking moves. They both rolled, turned and were up on their feet. Kirk nodded to Spock, who came for him, moving to slip past him and grapple for a neck pinch move. Kirk sidestepped him, feinted left, and tapped Spock's wrist feigning the move that would have let him pull him over his shoulder by the unguarded hand and dump him. Spock obligingly did the shoulder roll that Kirk's move would have granted. Kirk followed him in the same motion as he were pulling Spock over with him. They both rolled in the duet-like ballet of battle. Kirk was sweating now and breathing harder. In the heavy gravity, he was just a little slower rising than usual, leaving himself open a second too long. Spock tapped his ankle, marking the move that would have let him pull Kirk's feet out from under him.

"Darn it," Kirk wheezed. "You get me with that every time." He flattened in the move that Spock's ankle grab would have given him, and couldn't rise fast enough to escape Spock's grapple. Completing the fall, Spock rolled over and put an arm over his throat, not touching, just feigning the action that he would have taken in a contact match. Kirk slapped the mat in acknowledgement of the fall. Spock backed off, and Kirk sat up off the mat, wiping sweat out of his eyes, and wheezing for air.

"Are you okay, Jim?" Spock asked. "I think you are not acclimated enough for this."

"Forgot to take my Triox this morning."

"I doubt you **forgot**," Spock said, raising a skeptical brow.

"You're right. I hate having to take those damn pills."

"We should stop then."

"No. Just give me a minute. Is there any water here?"

Spock went into an alcove and came back with a bottle of water and a towel.

"Try it quarter strength this time?" Kirk asked, after he'd drained half the contents and mopped his face.

"I don't know."

"You okay?" Kirk asked. "**You** seem to be keeping up."

Spock tilted his head from side to side, in an ambivalent gesture, his expression unreadable.

"Come on. One more fall. You're not even sweating."

"Vulcans don't."

"Breathing hard, then. We're supposed to be getting a workout. Not fair if I'm the only one getting one."

"If you wish."

Kirk held out a hand to be pulled up. Spock drew him to his feet. Kirk wickedly set his weight against him, trying to pull Spock off balance enough to get enough leverage to mark a throw. Surprised Spock twisted his wrist out of Kirk's grasp, breaking the handhold a bit more strongly than Kirk had expected. But then, he had taken the Vulcan unaware.

"Quarter," Kirk reminded him, flexing his wrist, backing up to get maneuvering room.

"Yours wasn't."

"Gotta do **something** to make an impression on you," Kirk said grinning with exuberance, glad for the verbal as well as physical banter, and went for Spock. Less in the stylized ballet of before, since they were well warmed up, this time hard and fast. For just a moment, Spock's brow furrowed, as if confused at the change. In that second's pause of indecision, he'd left himself open and unguarded. Kirk took full advantage of that, and got hands on him, used his weight for leverage. He grappled for a throw-down, though even underweight as Spock was, moving a Vulcan's mass in this gravity was a bit like uprooting a tree. Spock came back to himself, kicked Kirk's feet out from under him, rolled backwards, flipping Kirk over him, bringing them both down in a hard, awkward move with more power from him than Kirk expected this early in a practice match, even with his Captain upping the ante.

"Oomph," Kirk said as the air was knocked out of his lungs. Spock faced off against him, his expression unreadable, moving in to close more quickly than Kirk could react, with him disconcerted this time.

Kirk wasn't sure if Spock was just adjusting to the gravity and hadn't quite gotten the limits down, or if it was something else. But given his breathlessness, and knowing he couldn't get his guard up sufficiently, he decided to call a quick halt, before things went too far.

"_Cavé_," Kirk said quickly, holding up a hand, before Spock could either mark the fall or complete it as aggressively as he'd just taken them both down. "_**Cavé**_, Spock. _**Pax**_."

For an anxious moment Kirk wondered if Spock was even going to yield. There was no acknowledgment of Kirk's command, by word, expression, or body language. His eyes held an odd blankness. And Kirk felt the barest flicker of fear, knowing how lethal Spock could be when out of control. But then, Spock straightened, frowning in confusion, drawing away, not bothering to do either move. He sighed, just a little, and blinked.

"You didn't hurt me," Kirk said, reassured by his now familiar body language. He wiped his eyes with a hand, and blinked as well, his eyes burning from his own sweat, looking around for the towel. "But I wasn't sure you were tracking." He sat up, rubbing the hip that had landed hard on the mat, and looked over at his First Officer. "You had this...I don't know. This kind of funny **look** on your face. You still do, sort of."

"I am sure I do not," Spock said, half offended.

Kirk grinned. That tone had been pure Spock. "Well then, I mean a **blank** look. You worried me, for a moment. And that last move sure wasn't quarter strength."

"Forgive me, Captain."

"I probably moved a bit too fast past the limits I called for, and you just responded in kind," Kirk admitted, rising stiffly. "We're both rusty. We've probably done enough for today. I know I need to get some triox in me before I try again. I obviously can't fight you like **this**. We'll just cool down and stretch, okay? Okay?" He looked over at his friend. "**Spock**?"

Spock blinked and came back to focus on Kirk, "Yes, of course, Captain."

"You had that **look** on your face again," Kirk complained. "Try to keep up, Commander."

xxx

Finding his way from Sarek's office blocked by crates of party supplies, McCoy wandered down the other end of the corridor and came out into the gardens on the other side. Making his way back, he met Jim and Spock returning from their workout, pleasantly tired.

"You were gone when I woke up this morning," McCoy accused.

"Gotta get up early to beat us, Bones," Kirk grinned, and then coughed. His face was red and he was wheezing slightly.

"You missed your triox again?" McCoy said disapprovingly.

"I'll take it, I'll take it," Kirk said. He frowned as a flyer came through the forcescreens and landed. "I thought your mother was home, Spock. That looks like her vehicle."

"I think that is Sascek," Spock said. "He must be bringing-"

"What the hell," Kirk said, and pushed McCoy behind him as two of the largest, toothiest beasts he had seen on Vulcan - save for Lauresa, and that hadn't turned out so well - came through the gate and made for them. But the creatures ignored both humans, heading straight for Spock. To Kirk's horror, the larger one in the lead launched itself in the air and appeared to go straight for his First Officer's throat. Kirk dove for the Vulcan, not quite sure what he was going to **do**. The creature seemed to take this amiss, and with a snarl deep in its throat, veered midair for Kirk.

Kirk instinctively reached for a phaser that wasn't on his belt.

Spock threw himself in front of Kirk, snapping out a command in Vulcan. The creature hit Spock; Spock went down clumsily, his body caught halfway between turning to his Captain; the creature went down on top of him, rapidly followed by the second, hot on its pads.

And then they both licked Spock's face.

Kirk let out a sigh, giving McCoy a relieved glance.

Spock sat up, and Kirk was relieved to see there was no blood flowing. It didn't seem possible that creatures that large could hit anyone in heavy gravity that hard and **not** have blood flowing, friendly intentions aside. Spock said something again to the creatures frisking around him and both of them sat, nailing their bottoms to the ground in picture perfect obedience.

Behind the creatures, one of the hugest Vulcans Kirk had yet seen came through the gate.

"Are these yours?" Kirk snapped, testy over his scare.

"They are **mine**, Jim," Spock said, wiping his face. "They belong to my family, at any rate. Sascek was just returning them. For guard duty, I presume."

"They will help walk perimeter this evening," Sascek said in nearly unaccented English. "Is there some problem?"

"The Captain was alarmed at their approach, and made a hasty move toward me. They misinterpreted his actions as an attack," Spock said.

Sascek raised a brow. "My apologies, Captain. These sehlets are family pets, naturally. But they **are** trained to guard."

"Sehlats," McCoy said, with a big grin on his face as he surveyed the animals with delight. "Heard about them. But I'd say those fangs are closer to eight inches. And they sure don't look like teddy bears to me."

"They've grown," Spock said, looking fondly at one of the creatures now steadily inching its huge bulk into his lap, cheating the hold in place order.

"Teddy bears?" Sascek questioned in puzzlement.

"Don't ask," Kirk said.

"As you will. Captain," Sascek said, "I have been meaning to speak to you on another subject. I will need Federation I.D.s and retina scans for any of your crew that will be attending the party." At Kirk's raised brow, Sascek said, "It is a standard security precaution. We require a check on all offworlders coming to Vulcan, but particularly here."

"I don't believe that is necessary," Spock said.

"I regret I must follow orders," Sascek began.

"Yeah, sure, I can get them," Kirk said, only too familiar with Vulcans' attitude toward orders and opting for the easier route.

"Good," Sascek nodded. "Forgive me, I have duties to attend to. Spock, if you wish, I will remove these creatures."

"Yes, for now," Spock said.

Sascek whistled and the two sehlets frolicked off at his heels.

Kirk was frowning at Spock, who had yet to get up, now shifting on the ground with an abstracted look of near pain on his face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm not quite sure," Spock admitted. After a moment, he attempted to rise. He gave a sharp, shocked gasp, his eyes widening and he went back down without any pretense of normalcy.

"Whoa," McCoy said, who'd been looking after the departing sehlats. "What'd you do, Spock?" He was already pulling out his medscanner.

"I don't know."

McCoy raised his brows and whistled lightly. "You got yourself a stress fracture. Third bone in your foot - though I can't remember what you Vulcan's call it. Looks like you might have pulled a bunch of ligaments and tendons when you went down too. Still the remedy's the same, regardless of the name." He undid Spock's boot and manipulated Spock's foot. The Vulcan went white again and grunted.

"Bet **that** hurts," McCoy said, with his usual acerbic humor. "I can fuse it. With a bit of sonics you should be functional enough. Jim, can you go up and get my medical kit from my room? The black bag. Or are you too winded to get up there?"

"I'm fine," Kirk said, looking worriedly at Spock's white face. But then he got moving.

"I'll give you a dose of triox from it when you get back." McCoy turned back to Spock, and ran fingers and hands over Spock's foot again, twisting it this way and that. Spock closed his eyes and shuddered. "Yep. **Thought** you'd feel that. Definitely some strains there I need to address."

Kirk came back and dropped to the sand by Spock's feet, offering McCoy the bag. McCoy took out a dose of triox and gave it to Kirk. "Swallow this." He rummaged in his bag, took out a laser bone setter and pointed it at Spock. "This is gonna hurt," he warned. He proved himself right as Spock drew another sharp breath and his head dropped.

McCoy drew out his scanner again and nodded. "That's fixed it. A bit of sonics and some anti-inflammatories, and you won't even notice. Let's see if," he rummaged for the next instrument and reached for Spock.

Spock was breathing raggedly but this time he jerked back from McCoy's grasp. "No," Spock said.

"What do you mean, no?" McCoy groused. "I do the treating here, Commander. Despite your opinion of my beads and rattles-"

"Bones." Kirk said, catching McCoy's sleeve, his eyes widening. "Don't **move**."

McCoy looked at Kirk, then back at Spock's face. "Damn," he breathed. "Spock?"

Spock's eyes were blank, sheeted. But the look on his face was chilling, and his hands had clenched into fists. He was slowly gathering himself, intent on McCoy.

"What's happened?" Kirk breathed. "What'd you **do**?"

"Broke one of my own damn rules," McCoy muttered. "Damn fool - Spock," he snapped his fingers. "Spock!"

"Sascek," Amanda called from the distance. "I didn't say I wanted these creatures in the **kitchen**. Not when we're preparing for a party."

"I did call them, my lady," Sascek said, sounding embarrassed for a Vulcan, "but they did not attend."

"Because you love me, don't you, you walking rugs," Amanda said to the animals. "And I like you, a **little**. But not this much. And not today. You have to go, go, go **out** in the **gardens.**"

Two sehlats frisked by, pausing to jump all over Spock, still conveniently at their level. They knocked him flat on his back on the ground and scoured his face again before sailing off.

"Spock?" Amanda said. "What are you doing? Are you all right?"

Spock looked up, from Amanda to Kirk to McCoy. He was blinking, confused, but he seemed somewhat more oriented. "I...don't know."

"The sehlats knocked him down," McCoy said. "And he was slightly injured. We could use some ice, if that's possible."

"Surely. But wouldn't you rather come in the house?"

"Spock," McCoy asked carefully. "Can you make it into the house?"

Spock didn't answer.

"I think just here for now," McCoy told her.

"Yes, of course." she said puzzled, but went away to fetch it.

"Spock are you with me?" McCoy asked intently, waiting till Amanda was out of earshot. "Do you know where you are? Who you're with?"

Spock drew a slow, careful breath and reaching up, rubbed his temples with his fingertips.

"Are you going to let me treat you?" McCoy asked. "Do you know who I am?"

"Dr. McCoy," Spock answered.

"Good," McCoy said, letting out a breath. "**Can** I treat you?" He slowly held out the sonic diffuser.

Spock flinched, the sight of the instrument apparently triggering some memory or reaction.

Amanda came back with a plastic bag of ice. "We have coolpacks, and - why would you want to use this?"

"Old fashioned method," McCoy said. "Spock's balking at technology for the moment. Would you rather have the ice, Spock? It will feel awfully cold to you. Or the sonics? They'll actually feel warm, and work faster." He spoke in careful tones. "I could use drugs, but I think you'd care for that even less."

Spock didn't answer.

"What's wrong?" Amanda asked in a low voice, puzzled by McCoy's elaborately broad manner of offering the two options.

"I broke my own rule," McCoy said. "Forgot he was not up to his usual controls, and I hurt him. Even taunted him a bit that I was **going** to hurt him - not that I meant any harm, but hardly my best bedside manner. And it didn't go over well. I might have set him back a bit."

"I **can** hear you," Spock muttered darkly, still eyeing the instrument in McCoy's hands.

"Good. Because you wonked out and weren't really with us for a minute there. You were somewhere else."

"I didn't"-

"Yes, you did," McCoy said. "But it's my fault. So what is it, Spock? Sonics, or ice? Touch that ice with a fingertip. It's going to feel really cold."

"I **know** how ice feels."

"Then **answer** me," McCoy said. And abruptly reversed that demand. "If you can."

Spock drew a shuddering breath. "Sonics."

"Then **I'll** take the ice," Kirk said equably, and scrubbed his face and the back of his neck with the outside of the bag, before sinking down next to Spock, sleeve to sleeve. He opened up the plastic bag and took out a chip to eat. He nudged Spock with a shoulder, and offered one to Spock who shook his head. "You okay?" Kirk asked.

Spock nodded, but his eyes hadn't wavered from the medical device McCoy was adjusting.

"You've seen one of these before," McCoy said, even as Spock eyed it as if it were a poisonous insect. "Look, do **you** want to do it? You know the settings and the technique."

Spock shook his head.

"Okay, here we go," McCoy said. Spock closed his eyes and folded in on himself, shuddering as it approached him. Kirk wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and McCoy nodded. "Yeah, let him lean against you, Jim. He's not feeling any too steady at the moment."

"He'll be done in a minute," Kirk said to Spock, "And if he hurts you, I'll - I don't know. Put him on report. Beat him up. Sic your sehlats on him. Something. He'll pay."

"Very funny, Jim," McCoy muttered, giving Spock a wary eye, before snapping his instrument off. "All done. You did great. How about trying to get up now?" He reached out to help as Jim helped Spock get to his feet, but the Vulcan flinched back, and looked at McCoy with a narrowed gaze that the physician could excuse but not really condone.

Kirk looked at McCoy with a '_what now?'_ expression.

McCoy drew a cautious breath. "You haven't had breakfast yet, right? Had your workout first thing? Then why don't you both go eat? I'm sure Spock will feel better with a few solid calories in him." He jerked his chin in the direction of the kitchen and watched as Spock and Kirk went slowly off.

"What **happened**?" Amanda asked.

"I fell back into old patterns," McCoy said. "I told you before that I've a bad habit of teasing Spock. He never accepts painkillers. Refuses to accept conventional medical treatment. It's not one-sided. He teases me **back**, goes on and on about my primitive 'beads and rattles'. How Vulcan techniques are better. It's just …what we do. So I taunted him a bit, like I generally do when he gets himself banged up. But he was in **pain** during it. Like a damn fool, I forgot he hasn't got the same pain controls he's always had. It obviously triggered a reaction, a memory from his captivity. Now I wonder how much worse damage I've done than if I had just left that minor injury alone."

"But you're a doctor. I'm sure he-"

"Amanda, you do realize they had doctors **there**? In the cell with him. Bringing him back to consciousness if he even was lucky enough to pass out from the pain. Measuring just how much he could take before - and helping to-" He shut his mouth, seeing her go white. "Damn it. I'm sorry. I seem to be putting my foot in my mouth with everyone today. But that I'm a doctor cuts no real weight with Spock."

Amanda let out a measured breath. "I'm not stupid, Doctor. I know what torture means," she said. She rubbed one hand to her forehead and scrubbed at her eyes. "It's just more graphic to have you explain it." She looked up at McCoy. "You didn't mean to hurt. And he'll understand. It was...just an accident."

"We don't have time for accidents," McCoy said, thinking of Komack, right now spinning wheels in Federation circles. "One step forward, two steps back," McCoy muttered looking after the Fleet officers. "But time keeps marching on."

_To be continued..._


	35. Chapter 35

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 35**

When Spock came down the stairs to join Kirk and McCoy that evening, it was to a different Fortress, and maybe a different Vulcan.

Outside in the gardens, the night sky sparkled with fairy lights. From there also came a subdued mutter and wash of multiple voices, like a running flow of water.

"We're about ready to start," Amanda said, turning to Kirk and McCoy. Beyond her Sarek was speaking to a pair of huge Vulcans wearing body armor and weapons, obviously guards. She ran an evaluating eye over their dress uniforms. "You two look very nice, though I'm not sure how well those uniforms are going to go over. But where's my errant child?"

"Coming," Spock said, from the landing above. His step as he came down was a little slow, but he walked without much of a limp. He was dressed in the same fancy tunic he had worn for T'Pau.

"I can see you won't be dancing much this evening," Amanda said, frowning at his halting pace.

"Dancing?" McCoy asked, surprised.

"Wouldn't be a party without dancing," Amanda said. "Sarek, are the guards ready?"

Sarek turned. "They are." He held out two fingers to her in a Vulcan embrace.

Amanda nodded and drew a measured breath. "Well. Let's get this show on the road. And believe me, it **is** a show." she added, and went off with her husband.

"What kind of a shindig is this Spock?" McCoy asked curiously.

Spock shrugged. "I hardly can say."

"What do you mean?" Kirk asked.

"On Vulcan, children do not attend adult functions. And after I left for Starfleet, it would have been awkward for my mother to have given one of these on the few times that I was home on leave, given Sarek and I were at odds. So this will be my first of these parties as an attendee." Spock considered the veracity of his statements. "Of course, I did watch from the balconies or parapets, and various other locations, when I was young enough to be curious."

"You learned young to be a spy," McCoy teased.

"I also learned the general lack of useful information such activities generally return," Spock returned, his manner to McCoy still frosty.

They moved into the main hall. Most of the time, the family seemed to enter and exit through the garden court doors. Except for the first day, once they'd learned the families' habits, Kirk and McCoy had hardly walked through or used the main hall either, or the great doors that opened on it. Now, the hall was lit with torches, as was the huge armory across from it. Somewhere an orchestra was tuning up.

"What the hell," Kirk muttered.

The pair of guards opened the great doors onto the formal gardens, revealing a huge swath of glitteringly attired guests, beings of all types, with more arriving every moment.

"It's like something out of a book," McCoy said admiringly. "Is Lord Byron attending?"

Amanda looked back to them, "Spock? You too, gentlemen," she said to Kirk and McCoy. "It's time to meet our guests. Don't worry," she added. "This won't take as long as it might look."

Kirk and McCoy stepped up behind Spock into a receiving line of sorts. After a moment's awkwardness - Kirk hadn't been expecting anything quite so formal - he appreciated the practicality of it. Amanda positioned herself ahead of Spock and Kirk. As the guests stepped forward, except for those entities where a formal introduction was a _de rigueur _part of their culture, she deftly made rapid fire introductions of names, planets and important titles in a chatty, conversational way as if to never imply that either party might not actually already know the other.

"And this is Silanjar, Legate of the Vulcan Council," Amanda would say, as a tall Vulcan offered them the Vulcan salute. "You know Spock and this is his Captain, James Kirk of the _Enterprise_, and Dr. McCoy. Ambassador Regan, and his wife Linnea, of Thendara. Ambassador Gort, of Tellur. Ambassador Tijun, of Andor. Ambassador Have Jadrek, of Rigel. Federation Ambassador-at-Large Carter Breannen, of the United Terran Colonies. Ambassadress Ning, of Helios," she introduced a very tall being, with gossamer wings.

Everyone greeted the Starfleet officers politely, though some showed obvious surprise at two Starfleet officers in Sarek's receiving line.

And as a Fleet Captain, Kirk wasn't blind to the political realities either. Starfleet Academy trained its officers in more than just exploration and defense. It gave its cadets a heavy grounding in politics and diplomacy - at least by its lights. Kirk had been to plenty of fancy diplomatic parties in his dress uniform and he understood one when he was in it. But he was also used to the automatic deference a Starship Captain commanded, not the least because often his heavy cruiser and its impressive weapons was orbiting above. Phasers and photon torpedoes might not be politic calling cards, but they could sometimes make a very good introduction, at least when it came to according instant respect.

But one interesting quirk of this receiving line was that he'd never attended one where his First Officer was introduced before himself, and where in the political arena any party encompassed, Spock ranked higher. Kirk got greetings laced with respectful, or in some cases resentful, nods for his uniform and the power of Starfleet and the Federation that lay behind it. But in this bastion of the old Alliance, a political entity that pre-dated the Federation, the Federation and its Starfleet arm was clearly regarded as a somewhat secondary entity. And almost every top player - and Kirk recognized many of the names from his diplomacy briefings - gave Spock a short half bow, taking a step back. Half of them looked from Spock to Sarek upon being introduced, making the comparison back to Spock as if taking his measure.

There were others, though, who plainly regarded Spock and his Starfleet companions as less than overwhelmingly important. Kirk had himself stepped back from the nine plus foot Helios being, Ambassadress Ning, an insectivore with a wingspan to match her height. She clearly was less than impressed with him, and more interested in her dinner.

"You don't expect me to sit at table, do you Amanda?" Ning asked. "I'd much rather browse."

"You can browse where you like, Ning, the gardens are open. So long as you don't hang from the chandeliers if we're still at dinner when you return - you **know** that upsets some of the guests."

"They are just jealous of the wingéd," Ning said, and taking a few steps to give herself wingroom, flew off.

"Don't mind Ning," Amanda said. "She is a good sort, but she can get a little excited with a good nectar source at hand."

Amanda herself was momentarily non-plussed for a name when Uhura came up to them. She must not have been introduced to her on the _Enterprise_. And unlike Scotty, who'd been donned in his dress kilt with Fleet insignia, Uhura had nothing Fleet about her. But Spock saved Amanda from embarrassment by saying, "Mother, I don't know if you met Lieutenant Uhura, the _Enterprise's_ Chief Communications officer."

"Lady Amanda," Uhura said, with a nod to Amanda then she smiled at Spock. "You are looking so much better, sir."

"Not as well as you," he noted. "That is an exceptionally lovely gown, Lieutenant."

"I couldn't resist the chance to wear it, rather than dress uniform," she made a face. "That's all very well for men, but-"

"No one, seeing you in that, would want you to wear a uniform," Kirk said, waggling his brows approvingly.

"Indeed, 'she walks in beauty like the night'1," Spock said.

"You're very lovely, my dear," Amanda said, glancing at her son, perhaps in surprise at his complement, "and we are so pleased to welcome you."

The dignitaries were followed by local personas - various heads and staff from of the Vulcan Science Academy, certain members of the Terran Embassy - McCoy found himself greeting Mark Abrams, who gave him a practiced smile after Spock gave him a very cool, narrowed-eyed and stiffly formal greeting. After that, there were, as Queen Elizabeth had more or less said of herself, _mere people_, friends who Amanda introduced without titles, with casual descriptions of their interests - a fat little man who Amanda introduced as a Rigilian importer, a tall skinny unkempt man who Amanda kissed on the cheek, and abjured him to get a good meal, he was much too thin, Christian Porter, another human teacher from the Vulcan Science Academy, and various others. Sanjean was there, and several other young Vulcans, who greeted Spock with familiarity. But the young naturalists apparently had been excluded from the guest list. The line evaporated, and Sarek, who'd been at the forefront, spoke briefly to the guards and came back to Amanda. "That's all," he murmured to her. "There are no no-shows. I've instructed the guards to lock down, close shields and walk point."

Amanda nodded, and took his arm. "Let's go," she said to her houseguests.

Kirk held back a minute to study the security ringing the Fortress with a professional eye. With the crowd now inside, the security presence outside was far more visible, and it looked to have increased by at least a factor of ten from its usual daily quota. Kirk did notice one of the sehlats walking with one of the guards. He realized all these political heavyweights enclosed in one space provided a darn good reason for the tight and very visible security. Many of the leading lights of the vaunted Vulcan Alliance were here, a political arm of the Federation that had been a legislative counterpoint, and sometimes somewhat of a thorn in the side to Terra and her colonies since Vulcan had been introduced into the Federation. These guests were Vulcan's political allies, the Federation entities that during the journey to Babel Gav had intimated looked to Sarek for how to vote, or simply had Sarek vote their proxies.

The Starfleet officers followed their hosts into the great hall, whose vaulted ceiling echoed the murmur of conversation apparently a little too loudly for Spock. Or perhaps it was more than just the noise. He halted on the entrance, and then took a step back.

Kirk who'd been half a pace ahead of him, in their normal configuration, turned on his heel the moment he felt that absence at his shoulder and dropped back. "You okay?"

Spock was breathing slowly and carefully. He didn't answer.

Finding no one following him - he'd been last in the receiving line and so when they turned, he'd been ahead of Kirk in following Sarek and Amanda - McCoy sought them out. "Sure your shields can handle this, Spock? This is a lot of people for you."

Spock didn't answer. He had his eyes closed, brows knitted. He'd apparently been running through some Vulcan discipline, because after a moment, his shoulders dropped and he drew a deep breath. "I can do it."

They walked back into the ballroom. No one had apparently regarded them as doing anything but having a quiet chat before entering. Amanda gave them a quick evaluating look, but with a few hundred guests, her hands were more than full. Sarek was almost invisible now, surrounded by a knot of beings.

Kirk had intended to stay at Spock's side, at least until he was sure his First Officer could handle the crowd, but he found them separated almost immediately, as everyone chatted and circulated. All around him, the subject was primarily politics. Votes, strategies, Federation High Council positions, Alliance counterpoints, all of it in a subdued but powerful undercurrent to the ostensibly glittering party. Power was a drug more luring than euphorics. Music was playing; trays of delectable snacks and drinks were circulating; beautiful women and powerful beings were in themselves intoxicants of another kind. Kirk began to enjoy himself.

Until he found himself harangued by a distant member of the old Alliance, whose quadrant was now patrolled by Starfleet rather than Vulcan Space Central and who had a bone to pick thereof. The member, a humanoid named Aster Clive, had a lot of complaints about the difference between Vulcan efficiency and Starfleet dalliances 'whose idea of patrol was stopping by to resupply on fresh food once or twice a standard year'.

Kirk tried a few times to stem the flow of outrage, but he wasn't making much headway when Amanda arrived at his side.

"Hello, Clive," she said to his conversational partner. "So lovely to see you could make it. May I beg your indulgence and borrow the Captain from you for just a moment? There's someone I need him to meet." She dissected Kirk from his conversational partner with the deftness of a surgeon.

"Who do you want me to meet?" Kirk growled, not keen on having his ears chewed off by another anti-Federationist.

"No one, of course," Amanda murmured. "You just looked like you could use a rescue."

Kirk gave her a sharp look.

"I apologize for Clive," she added. "Don't think it's any **real** reflection on Starfleet. According to Sarek, he wasn't satisfied with Vulcan's garrison either. He probably wouldn't be completely so unless all twelve Constellation class starships and the latest dreadnoughts in the yards were in nose to nose in blockade orbit around his system. As if there was anything there to attract any serious predatory interest," she added in a the same almost inaudible tone, wearing a pleasant smile as if they were chatting about something delightful.

"What importance is he to the Alliance?" Kirk asked.

Amanda shrugged. "At one time, Vulcan maintained a listening post there; it was on the edge of their range then. During negotiations with the Federation, Vulcan yielded the patrolling of that sector to StarFleet. Clive feels a bit miffed over that concession. He never lets a meeting go by without letting Sarek hear of it, or any Fleet rep he can harangue. But after he says his piece, he usually behaves the rest of the evening. I'm not sure he's done though, so go and make yourself scarce somewhere else, or he may try to hook up with you again. Though Sarek has thought of 'sic'cing Spock on him."

"Spock?"

"He can debate him on the historical discrepancies between what Clive claimed he got before and what he is getting now. Since Spock holds no position in government at present, and is not officially anything more than Sarek's son, he can be blunt as Sarek can't, at least not without a lot of political delicacy. Nor can Spock have it held against him for telling the truth, even if he is nailing his opponent to the wall. At least, Clive won't do that. He's not vindictive. Just tiresome on that one subject." She laughed softly. "Look there goes Spock moving in range to get co-opted now."

"That doesn't seem very fair to Spock," Kirk said, watching Spock with narrowed eyes as he was intercepted by Clive.

"Rather poor Clive. Oh, come on, Jim. Don't you be tiresome too. Have you ever known Spock not to enjoy an argument? Especially if he's guaranteed to win the debate? And Clive really just wants someone to listen to him. He'll feel better for it. Anyway, it's good practice for Spock," Amanda said, patting Kirk's arm as she made to move away and tend to her guests. "He's going to have to deal with this group **someday**. Go circulate. A Federation Starship Captain is as rare **here** as an Orion slave girl." She laughed softly. "Maybe rarer. **Everyone** will want to meet you, although you may be in for some more displaced frustration. But it's all in a good cause. Here's your chance to seduce all these Alliance members to the mighty sway of the Federation. I sure have never made much headway at that. Though I can't say I've really tried." She suddenly made a face, looking behind him. "Tails **up**. Don't look, but you've a bogey on your six."

Kirk looked behind him anyway, surprised at her Fleet phrasing.

"Lyle Greenmeadow, Terran Embassy," she continued. "Be **nice**," she adjured him as if he were twelve years old. "But don't waste **too** much time on him. You're both from the same camp." She faded, stopping for a polite word to Greenmeadow.

"Are you enjoying your stay on Vulcan, Captain?" Greenmeadow asked.

"Aren't I supposed to?" Kirk asked, with _a don't mess with me,_ I've_ got you in my sights_ predatory smile. He narrowed his eyes, wary after Amanda's intro. She might be a bit too familiar with him at times and decidedly not in awe of his position or rank, but he was beginning to trust her political instincts.

Greenmeadow laughed politely. "You're certainly in a unique position to do so, if you're capable of it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you're staying here," Greenmeadow spread his arms. "with the head of the Alliance. A very rare opportunity. Your host doesn't often open his home to Federation representatives. Even for social gatherings."

"I'm a guest of their son," Kirk said mildly. "Along with my Chief Surgeon. We're here for personal reasons, not on any political agenda. And his parents have been very welcoming."

"Very interesting. In the past, Sarek's ...reticence... went double for Federation representatives of the Starfleet persuasion. At least before."

"As I said, I'm a guest of their son."

"Yes. I'd like to speak with Spock before I leave," he looked around for the younger Vulcan.

Following his gaze, Kirk could tell by Spock's relaxed shoulders and amused look his friend was actually enjoying himself. So apparently was Clive, though he was waving his arms in fervent rebuttal.

"But I wasn't sure how far I'd get," Greenmeadow continued. "I wish whomever was on duty before he left had a clue what he was about. Clearly he was a lot more sympathetic than his education or paternal parentage would have indicated."

"Sympathetic?"

Greenmeadow turned back to Kirk. "To the Federation," he said, with a touch of surprise.

Kirk raised his brows at that. "Vulcan is part of the Federation, certainly."

Greenmeadow made a careful face of rebuttal. "Hardly. Barely." When Kirk still looked unconvinced, the diplomat gestured around the room. "Look around you. The core of Vulcan Alliance. When Vulcan came into the Federation, they supposedly were going to bring their block of worlds **with** them. But half the time the Alliance tries to dictate Federation policy. The rest they talk succession. I can't say they've ever really **assimilated**."

"Federation policy is whatever Federation members decide," Kirk warming to his argument. "Isn't it more a question of the Federation morphing to accommodate its changing member base, than those members changing themselves to preserve a mostly human colony status quo?"

"Now you sound like an Alliance member."

Kirk's teeth bared in a smile that was more feral than cordial, "I really dislike it when people assume my philosophies match my blood type."

"You're a Starship Captain."

"And I'm sworn to defend the United Federation of Planets. We don't pick sides or play favorites among Federation member planets on the bridge of the _Enterprise_."

"Bet you can't say quite the same for the Admiralty. How many alien starship captains are there? How many women for that matter? None. It's an old guard Fleet and an old guard Federation."

"Are you suggesting we maintain that?"

"I'm suggesting it's somewhat dangerous for aliens to be the ones dictating change within the Federation. StarFleet understands that."

"It's true that military practices can move a bit slower than political realities," Kirk allowed, frowning a little. "There's a culture there. It takes time to bring more diverse officers and practices through the ranks. There are some inequities, but they are getting better. But Federation policy is determined by its members. And Fleet takes its orders from the Federation High Council. Not Terra."

"Come, Captain. When the Federation first formed, it stood for Terra and her colonies. Humans. Many powerful Federation members don't want to see it diluted by an overwhelming influx of non-human values. It may turn into something different than it was when it started. And where would we be then?"

"A little more tolerant?" Kirk suggested, raising his brows in innocent surmise.

Greenmeadow stepped up to Kirk and said _sotto voce_. "If Vulcans were so **tolerant**, your First Officer wouldn't have been hounded off this planet by these fine IDIC philosophers. Or have an eighteen year estrangement from his family. Where did he go for tolerance? **Earth**. I think you are selling the Federation as it stands now somewhat short."

Kirk drew up at that, Greenmeadow's bringing to the forefront all his ambivalence about his stay on Vulcan. Sarek's words about Earthmen had never been too far from his mind. He wondered again which was the **real** Sarek. The vaunted Federation statesman renowned for brokering peace throughout the Federation? Or the intolerant near bigot he'd appeared to Kirk on the Babel mission, one who made disparaging remarks about humans and Tellurites, and shunned his only son for eighteen years? Or was it possible that Vulcans, far from being hero-lighted gods, were just as flawed and imperfect as humans? He remembered the conversation in the garden, and Silanjar's casual remark about Kirk coming to regard Vulcans as no better than they were. Spock had always referred to Vulcans and his culture almost invariably as shining paragons of virtue. But he'd left Vulcan very young. Kirk's first encounter with Sarek had left a somewhat different impression with him.

"Think about it," Greenmeadow said, seeing he had no ready answer and stepped aside.

Kirk looked after him, breathing hard, battle honed senses at the ready, and nothing to focus them on. He wasn't sure **what** sort of Vulcan he was on. Suddenly, as if sensing his disquiet, Spock was at his elbow. "Captain?" When Kirk didn't respond he said, "Jim?"

Kirk let out a breath. "Sorry. Suddenly I wasn't quite sure where I was."

"I believed **I** was the only one experiencing that phenomenon,' Spock said, with a quirkily raised brow. "Are you quite well, Captain? Perhaps the room is too warm? Or you require Triox?"

"No, I'm fine. It's just that-", Kirk shook himself and looked up at his First Officer. "Maybe I'm just not all that comfortable with politics."

Spock raised both brows at this. "I always thought you generally quite astute in your political dealings on the _Enterprise_," Spock said, looking at him with some surprise. His eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you are dehydrated. I will bring you something to drink, Captain."

Kirk turned to follow, but almost immediately bumped into a man shorter than himself, and he knew he was no tower. The man - for he was human - sputtered and wiped drink off his chest, and Kirk apologized for his clumsiness.

"James Kirk," the man said, looking at the ribbons on Kirk's dress uniform. "I don't know whether to shake your hand, like the fellow countryman you might be, or spit on your boots, for the tyranny your pretty starship with its deadly weapons offers. Brady Barra," he offered his hand, Terran style, "From Tús Úrnua"

"I'm from Iowa," Kirk said, deadpan, taking it guardedly.

"**Not** a countryman, then," Barra said, without missing a beat. His eyes were friendly and his body language as open as his face, but for all that his was an ungiving expression.

"Apparently not," Kirk said, transfixed by his manner of both openness and suspicion. "And my ship doesn't represent tyranny."

"Oh, and there you're wrong, Captain," Barra said, still more amused than anything, his light eyes playing over Kirk's face. "You may not intend it so, but it is. A terrible tyranny we'd prefer to avoid. Set up our own world, and still you come chasing after us, with your fine fast ships, built with your cruel high taxes. You take our bread with one hand, and with the other, buy the boot that crushes our throat."

"I've seen real tyranny sir, and it's **not** the Federation. And very little tax revenue goes into Fleet coffers," Kirk said. "And if you need Federation help, the Fleet stands ready to defend or assist.

"I'd rather die a free man, than buy safety at the price of oppression. Oh, keep your hair on," he said, grinning when Kirk brows formed storm clouds and he drew breath to argue. "It's pulling your leg a bit, I am. But there's no denying more of us feel that way than not on Tús Úrnua."

Kirk swallowed his reply, remembering where he was.

"You've talked to the high and mighty of us, then," Barra continued, jerking his chin at Greenmeadow a few knots of guests away. "The Federation's fine Terran representatives. And now you're slumming with the low."

"Tús Úrnua is part of the Alliance then?" Kirk asked, frowning, thinking back over his last political briefing.

"Sinn Féin. Just ourselves," Barra said, shaking his head, his eyes narrowed. "Oh, sometimes we vote with Breannan's independents. They're not too bad a lot. Sometimes we hang with the Alliance. It doesn't ask us for anything, I'll grant it that. Neither credits, nor blood, nor a permanent allegiance. But we worry **they** may get co-opted too. I'll not deny, none of us were that pleased when Spock joined Starfleet. It's a sorry day when a child you raise is seduced by powerful ships and fancy uniforms."

"The uniforms aren't that fancy," Kirk deadpanned back, gesturing at himself. "And Spock doesn't give a damn about either. Better yet, keep your mouth off my First Officer entirely if you want to keep all your teeth. There's a limit to how political I can be."

"Loyal, is he? Interesting to see that from a Federation representative."

"Come on, Barra," Kirk said, repressing a very impolitic desire to tell him to cut the crap. "The Federation has a good purpose and you know it. It is a big galaxy to stand alone in."

"And we're happy to associate with the Alliance. Such as it is and so far. That's why we keep a representative here. We like to keep an eye on the wind. The Federation, not so much. It'd be a sorry day to my eyes if Vulcan got too friendly with Terra. Best for us, and the Alliance if Vulcan keeps its independence."

"Guess you're sorry he married a Terran than," Kirk said.

"Ah, boy-o," Barra said, tapping a finger against the side of his nose. "That was a smart move, sure to disarm the Terrans in the middle of negotiations as he was. And as for Sarek himself - keep friends close, and enemies closer."

"Well, maybe that's why Spock joined Fleet," Kirk countered.

"Sarek is a better actor than I take him for, then, given he's turned away at the very mention of his name for years. But I suppose anything is possible." Barra frowned, seeing Spock approach, and nodded to Kirk, stepping away without asking to be introduced, in a move just short of rudeness.

"I believe McCoy would advise you to watch your blood pressure, Captain." Spock said, looking wonderingly from Kirk to Barra.

"He's an ignorant cuss, and I'd like to knock his teeth down his throat." Kirk made as if to take a step, and Spock caught his arm gently and turned him to him.

"**Not** at my mother's party," Spock warned him.

"Who **are** these people?" Kirk fumed privately to Spock.

"Political allies, on Vulcan and in the Federation. Friends."

"No one could be **his** friend."

"I would not take any comments you hear too seriously, Captain. Wearing a Fleet uniform to this event is something like waving a red flag before a bull - at least to some in this political arena. The Federation, in its infancy, has not always played fair with new members, particularly aliens. But even those from independent colony worlds, such as those of the United Free Colonies, as Breannan represents, or Barra's world, have some grievances."

"Do I hear my name taken in vein?" Breannan asked, turning from a small group nearby.

"My Captain had just finished speaking with Brady Barra," Spock said.

"Ouch," Breannan winced, making a face. "I believe my reputation then precedes me, Captain," he shook Kirk's hand. "But may I introduce my companions? Ambassador SSSundressss," he nodded to a large green Amphibianoid, "Ambassador Naron," a taller, red lizard like creature with astonishingly bright yellow eyes, and Ambassadress Marie Newland, of New Amsterdam."

"Gentleman, Ma'am," Kirk said.

"Don't hate us all, on Barra's acquaintance, Captain," Newland said. A contrast with her associates, she was entirely human, shockingly young, and exceedingly attractive. "Some of us are quite nice, and even civilized. But we do prefer to be...independent."

"It must be a hard coalition for Sarek to keep together then," Kirk said.

"I suppose it is," Newland said. "Though I confess, I've never seen Ambassador Sarek as anything other than supremely cool and confident. More of an _I'm going this way, if you care to follow, and not looking behind _type, than arguing one into the sand. Though reputedly he does that too, when it's required."

Kirk turned to Spock at that, but he just flicked a brow and shrugged. Clearly he'd been hearing about his father, good and bad, all his life, and was past taking anything political as a personal slight.

Before they could continue, Ambassador SSSundressss gave a throaty sigh and wiped a massive pad over his brow. He'd gone from neon green to a faded olive. "Forgive me, gentlebeings, but this environment has really become too much for me. I am going to go out for a bit and find a cool fountain in which to soak and repair my integument."

"Do you need assistance?" Kirk asked, frowning for the creature did seem distressed. "Our ship's surgeon is here." He scanned the crowed. "Somewhere."

"I only require a more humid environment."

"I'll attend him," Naron said. "I could use a sssssoak too. And those fairy lightsssss will attract any number of night insssssects," he added to SSSundresss.

"An excellent suggestion," SSSundressss said. "I **prefer** live aperitifs. And there may be **fish** in the fountain."

"They are not appetizzzzerssss. You are not ssssupposed to eat the decorative fisssssh," Naron hissed, his long tongue flicking out. "Unlike the insssssects, they're **petsssss**."

"No one will notice a small fish or two, more or less. And they are so tasty..." SSSundresss argued. The pair moved off.

"And if you'll forgive me, Captain," Newland said. "I see someone that **I** have to catch. Not a fish," she smiled at Kirk.

"Don't forget Abraxis IV," Breannan called after her, as she waved a hand and nodded.

"Should we tell your mother that SSSundressss is unwell?" Kirk asked Spock admiring the view as Newland walked away.

"No need," Spock said, looking instead after the amphibianoid pair. "I can't recall a gathering where Ambassador SSSundressss or one of his predecessors did not spend half the evening in one of our fountains. Generally eating up the ornamental fish. I believe they are as rose petals are to Vulcans to him."

"It doesn't bother you he's going to eat your fish?"

"I think Mother actually procures them for our guests. She just doesn't tell my father - in so many words. Or he prefers to overlook it. There's much a Federation Ambassador has to attend to, and much he is required to overlook. He has," Spock glanced over at Sarek, who had a group around him several deep still soliciting his attention, "many other concerns."

Kirk noticed a few groups away, Greenmeadow watching Sarek with frowning interest. "Apparently. **That** one's not exactly a happy camper."

"I am somewhat surprised to see Federation embassy personnel here," Spock said. "And the Terran legate. They are not always invited to these purely social gatherings. The political climate between the Federation and Vulcan must be somewhat cordial at the moment, for there are times when the situation is simply too volatile to have them here."

"He mentioned that. But this doesn't look like a purely social gathering."

"It is, though," Spock said. "Greenmeadow must still be somewhat at odds with the Alliance - he said some very odd things to me - but he is clearly pleased to be here. He would be foolish to pass up a chance to meet with so many Alliance members associating together. And to have an ability to put forth his delegation's positions. For those that will hear him."

"You think they won't listen?"

"I think they seldom care to," Spock said. "Many of these delegates, those **not** part of the original Alliance, side with Vulcan now because they have grievances against the Federation, which the Federation has disregarded. The Alliance presents one of the larger non-Terran colony world factions. They are at best ambivalent about Federation membership."

Breannan nodded and chimed in. "And it sticks in Greenmeadow's craw. But, it's the political realities here. Sarek is doing his best to keep the Alliance in the Federation. Rather than appreciate what he has to do to accomplish that, the Terrans occasionally act as if instead he's sabotaging their agenda."

"They do all seem to want Sarek's ear. And no one seems to crowd around Greenmeadow," Kirk noted.

"Well, you've heard the old Earth jingle about the Cabots and the Lowells haven't you? 2", Breannen grinned mischievously at Spock. "The Terran diplomatic staff here have a new twist on it for Vulcan.

And this is the Quadrant Eridani

Where logic not emotion is law

Where the Alliance speaks only to Vulcan

And Sarek speaks only to God.

Kirk turned a laugh into a cough, and spared a glance for his First Officer. Far from being outraged, Spock's brows were raised in confusion.

"I thought the last verse ended _Sarek speaks only to T'Pau_," Spock said.

"Same thing, isn't it Spock?" Carter said, amused.

"I am shocked," Spock said, with mock Vulcan severity.

"No, you're not," Breannan said. "Shocked at my **discretion**, maybe."

"In that respect, you are correct," Spock said, a half smile curving his mouth. "I have heard a much more ribald version of that rhyme."

"**Not** at your mother's party," Breannan said, glancing at Amanda, in spite of her being far across the ballroom. "She might not invite me back."

"I doubt that. The UFC is rather important to the Alliance," Spock said.

"Ah, but maybe it is like the Federation and Vulcan. Maybe we need the Alliance a bit more than they need us." He frowned looking over the Vulcan. "Though we sometimes can make a difference on key votes. It's nice to see you again, Spock. But I must say you're looking very drawn. I'd heard you were recuperating from a difficult mission. I trust you'll soon be fully recovered? Vulcan can't afford to lose you. And of course, neither can your father."

"My father?" Spock asked, taken aback by this.

"He's hasn't been looking too well either this past year. When we heard he was retiring, I confess it gave everyone in the Alliance quite a scare. It's good that you're home."

Spock had raised his brows in surprise. "My father has fully recovered. And he has many competent aides. He **doesn't** require me."

"I thought...forgive me, if I'm being too personal. I assumed you'd come home to stay. So you're planning to resume your Starfleet career?"

"I ...am not sure," Spock said, looking uncomfortable. "I hoped... " he paused and didn't continue.

Breannan had the grace to look a bit embarrassed for being too personal.

Meanwhile, Kirk had turned to Spock, a little surprised at his phrasing. As precise as Spock generally was, Kirk had thought he would use the words expect or trust, rather than the more uncertain hope. Vulcan's seldom indulged in **hope**. But before he could say anything, a gong resounded, calling them all in to dinner. Breannan looked relieved to have escaped the awkward personal subject he'd raised. Kirk himself decided that this was neither the time or place to get into it. As one, the crowd slowly began to move.

Kirk had never seen the Fortress' banquet hall, and certainly would never have seen it lit up and dazzling as it was. In the Palace, they had not seen that edifice's huge banquet hall populated and gleaming for a huge event, merely half-lit for a small family gathering. Here this one was and the effect dazzled. The walls were hung with tapestries and weapons from Vulcan's warrior past. The flaming torches and lighting, the exquisitely set tables needed only the glittering guests to accent them. For any being with even a trace of emotional consideration, it was a setting designed to overwhelm, impress and intimidate. Kirk was tactician enough to recognize power that was elegant enough not to care whether it was understated. He didn't necessarily like the phenomenon when he encountered it, when the power wasn't solidly in his court. But he could recognize it. For one of the few times he'd experienced the sensation, he felt as if his uniform and his ship orbiting above might not quite counter the effect of all that power. After a moment, he swallowed and entered the room.

It was typical dinner party seating, with everyone mixed up to converse with someone new. He had been placed far away from Spock and the other Enterprise personnel. On Kirk's right, was a young woman. She was blond, unattached, well spoken, intelligent and beautiful. Apparently she was on Vulcan doing research on some theory that Vulcans, Romulans, Orions, and similar races were seeded by some greater being, and she was attempting to trace the origins of that seeding by archeological mans. Under normal circumstances, they might have found that or some other subject of interest to discuss, given he'd had some previous encounters with other "seeders" of humanoid life. And in their first few exchanges he discovered her father had a Fleet background – one reason why she was familiar with these seeding cultures – he was Science officer on an exploratory vessel, the _Ling Abbey_. But after a few tentative sorties into the conversational wars, she became engaged in argument with a Vulcan on her other side, who had some disagreements on part of her theories. She got so deeply in discussion that she forgot her other dinner partner, her manners and perhaps even her dinner. It left Kirk bored and devoid of that source of interest.

And even the food was no diversion, for the next course served was a salad. No great fan of green leaves even when McCoy starved him on one of his eternal diets, Kirk had no appetite for them now. He pushed his plate slightly away, leaving it untouched.

With a sigh Kirk turned to Sion, his dinner partner on his other side. A Vulcan about Sarek's age, with a trace of silver in his dark hair, and a quiet reserve that reminded Kirk of Spock, they had exchanged names but little else. Sion was looking down at the plate of green leaves topped with a red sauce with a raised brow. Apparently he was either not very familiar with human foods or was bemused by the color combination, which to a Vulcan, might look a bit odd.

Striving for a conversational subject, Kirk picked the one that seemed to engage most of the guests that evening. "Are you involved in politics, sir?"

Sion tasted a green leaf topped with its raspberry vinaigrette. The expression on his face was one Kirk was familiar with when Spock had made a stunning discovery.

"Sir?" Kirk asked.

"Forgive me, Captain. No, I am not in diplomacy. I am an industrialist." He took another forkful of lettuce and his brows rose as he slowly chewed. "Fascinating."

Kirk watched with amusement as Sion consumed with every appearance of relish what was apparently the Vulcan's first Terran salad. When he'd finished, he looked so regretfully at his empty plate that Kirk couldn't resist a perhaps less than mannered action. "Here. Take mine." He smoothly exchanged his full plate for the Vulcan's empty one, "No, please. I **hate** salads."

"Thank you, Captain," he said politely, but with a raised brow at Kirk's emotional comment.

"I take it you don't attend these parties generally? Given you don't seem too used to these types of foods."

Sion nodded in agreement. "You are correct, Captain. My work keeps me resident mostly in space. I can seldom be importuned away. I am generally more than satisfied with commissary fabricators for my dietary needs. But I have never tasted anything like this dish. It is...exquisite."

"The lettuce? Or the raspberry sauce?"

"Is that what it is?" Sion licked the red tip of his fork. "I thank you for the information, Captain. I had heard of this fruit, and that it tasted very well to Vulcans. But was never put in a way so as to investigate it. I will attempt to have our fabricators replicate this compound."

"You said you are a …manufacturer? And you work in space? What do you manufacture?"

Sion had chosen to eat his second salad leaf by leaf, apparently to make it last. "The entity for whom I work creates very many things. Engines. Cyber-electronics. Environmental systems."

"Ships," Kirk said, putting two and two together.

"You mean the final fitting together of the components to create an actual vehicle? That too, naturally, but that is mere assemblers' work. I am primary concerned with the design prior."

"Starships," Kirk said. "Warp craft."

"Certainly." Sion swirled the final two very small leaves in the raspberry sauce and closed his eyes as he ate them. If a Vulcan could have a religious experience, Sion seemed to be experiencing one, at least by his expression.

"And you're working on **my** ship. The _Enterprise." _ Kirk smiled even at the mention of her name. He felt immediately better about his uniform and his standing - as regards this room and all Vulcan. And at least he had figured out why Amanda must have seated this particular individual next to him.

Sion opened his eyes at that. "I personally? Certainly not. Though I believe one of our subsidiaries **is** doing some minor upgrades to your craft."

"Minor?" Kirk thought of the _Enterprise's_ current state, with the saucer detached from the hulls while the warp engines were torn apart.

"It was my understanding from engineering reports that the ship's frame was insufficient to withstand the stresses of higher warp fluxion fields. So the modifications to your engines are necessarily somewhat limited."

"You work for Shikahr Enterprises." Kirk said.

"What is that?" Sion asked, puzzled. Then he blinked. "Oh. Yes, I suppose that might be one of the Federation names used for our entities. You understand, Captain, that I am in R&D. I have very little to do with the actual yards or the business end of the firm. Or the Federation names for them."

Kirk suddenly remembered. Amanda leaning across her flyer, talking to Sarek. Asking if Sion would be interested in Starfleet input. He glanced over to Amanda, but she was engaged in a conversation with a Caitan, and didn't notice his look.

"Do you know Spock?" Kirk asked.

"Sarek's child," Sion nodded, and drew back as their plates were changed for the next course. "Some years ago, he served a few internships in various departments. But his education was always steered primarily to theory. He was never expected to pursue, nor terribly interested in, applied mechanics."

"He's First Officer on my Starship," Kirk shrugged. "That's pretty applied."

"I had heard he was taking a few years in Federation Service. Probably very practical, given his eventual career when he completes his education.

"He **has** a career," Kirk said.

Sion gave him a pointed look at that, raising a brow. "He's not an engineer."

Kirk didn't know whether to agree or be outraged on Spock's behalf. Or on reflection, wondering if he'd just been discretely warned. He'd meant to grill Sion on what and when of these modifications were going to be shared with the Fleet and Federation vessels, but it suddenly didn't seem as important if he went back to Fleet without Spock. He chewed his lip over Sion's comment and shelved the grilling for a later time. Watching Sion return to eating, he tasted the next course, but it might as well have been weeds in ash. He looked around at all the diplomats, planetary leaders, and wished with all his soul he was in the Enterprise spare but familiar main rec, eating reconstituted fare out of the food processors and looking forward to little more than a game of 3-D chess and a song from Uhura. "I want to go home," he muttered under his breath.

Sion cocked a brow at him, and forbore to comment.

Dinner was followed by desert. Kirk was ready for the party to be over, but the orchestra was tuning up again. In the ballroom, people were dancing. In the gardens, knots of people, and infatuated lovers were winding down the paths, admiring the lights and flowers, or looking for a secluded place to tryst. In the crowd, Kirk lost track of all the Enterprise personnel, McCoy, Uhura, and Spock, and he only saw Scotty as the Engineer was leaving. It occurred to him that Spock might have faded and McCoy might have gone with him up to his room. He went back into the house, passed by dangerous looking Vulcans who were apparently tasked with keeping guests from wandering into places they weren't meant to go. He checked out Spock's rooms, but they were empty.

Giving up, he shrugged and made the best of it, and went back to the party. Most of the fierceness had gone out of the arguers after a good dinner, so no one snagged him to snap to him about Federation policies, or the tyranny of his Starship. But there were still beautiful women to be danced with. So he danced with Marie Newland, and with his dinner partner. He took a few lovely women into the rose gardens for a bit of floral dalliancing, and danced some more. He almost enjoyed himself so much so it was a surprise when he looked around and realized the ballroom had largely emptied and the party was over.

Or nearly over.

Amanda and Sarek were out in the formal Vulcan gardens saying farewell to the bulk of their guests. In the few that remained, Kirk saw McCoy hanging out with Dr. Abrams and walked up to him. "Where've **you** been?"

"Where have **you** been?" McCoy accused him in turn.

Kirk gave up. "All right. It's a big place. So, is it over? Cinderella leaves her slipper behind and the rest go home?"

"Actually, not quite. The tail end is the best part of the party," Abrams said. "The rest is just-" he shrugged. "Political exigency. We usually gather round the pool to round out the evening."

Kirk and McCoy followed Abrams' lead. They discovered the party had relocated yet again. But only a select group remained this time, perhaps ten or fifteen percent of the original 200 plus guests. Abrams, some of the Academy teachers, a group of the Alliance notables, including Carter Breannan, representative head of the United Free Terran Colonies, Regan and Linnea. The Tellur and Andor representatives had gone, but Ning, the giant Helios being remained, as well as some lizard like men, and various humans and Vulcans Kirk had not taken much awareness of among the other glittering notables.

Now this group settled round Amanda's pool, where a table of refreshments had been set out. Some settled down on the pool furniture. Some kicked off shoes and hiked up skirts and sat on the pool's edge, dangling feet in the water. A few stripped down to suits and dove or jumped in the water. Everyone seemed to give a concerted sigh of relaxation. On the edge of the pool, just far enough away to be out of the spray, a man picked up a guitar and began softly strumming.

Kirk found Spock there, with Sanjean and a few other Vulcans, talking intensely in rapid Vulcanur, too fast for Kirk to catch even a word.

Sarek and Amanda came through the flower maze and Amanda sighed hugely. She took off her shoes, loosened her upswept hair so that it hung down her back, hitched up her long gown and sitting down on the water's edge, dipped her feet in the pool. "That looks so inviting," she said to some of those frolicking in the water. "I'm half tempted to swim myself."

Sarek brought her a cool drink instead. "It is too late. The temperature will soon drop and you will become chilled."

"You're probably right," Amanda mused, looking longingly at the water. "But after the crush of the ballroom, I don't think I'd mind."

"It was a lovely party, Amanda," Linnea said.

"Well, unlike some gatherings I've been to," Amanda said, with a wry glance for Kirk, "no one got knifed. Literally, that is. I'm sure there were some figurative slayings, but none that involved actual bloodshed. Of course we haven't had the final guards' report."

"I think there's going to be real trouble over Abraxis IV," Carter said to Sarek. He was one of those who had rolled up his pant legs and doffed his socks and shoes and was dangling feet in the pool.

Sarek flicked a brow at that, but kept his counsel.

"Those who won't be guided, cannot learn," Regan said. "But I tend to agree."

Breannan shook his head. "Hell, I can't deal with any more politics now. I'm going for a swim. It will clear my head." He went off to a changing room, came back in fabricated trunks and dove off the far end, coming up sputtering. "I don't know how you can say any human would be **chilled**, Sarek. After the sun on it all day, this pool gets as warm as a bathtub."

"It's cold," Sarek countered.

"To a Vulcan."

"That does it. I'm going to join you," Amanda said. "I can always put on a robe, afterwards." She went off, came back in a suit with her hair braided into a tight tail, did a neat jackknife, and swam a couple of laps.

From around the corner of a flower laden arch, the two amphibianoids came, dripping water. "We heard **splashing**."

A pair of Vulcan guards followed them, and went over to Sarek to report. "We've completed a thorough search, and all the departing guests have been escorted from the grounds, except for those here, and Ambassadress Ning, who is in another part of the gardens. Everyone remaining is cleared for primary or secondary access. We are going to lock down shields and tighten the perimeter."

"So no **actual** knife work," Amanda said with satisfaction from the water, and diving, swam underwater for a few laps.

"Acknowledged," Sarek said. "I wish she wouldn't **do** that," he muttered, frowning at Amanda's underwater swimming. He sounded so much like Spock in his affirmative that Kirk turned to the Vulcan at his side, but Spock wasn't paying attention. His Vulcan friends had gone over to watch the swimmers, looking fascinated at the phenomenon. Eschewing the seating around the pool, and unimpressed with swimming, Spock had settled himself on a stone knee wall edging some gardens. Now, leaning back against the rock wall behind him, he was looking up at the stars.

"What's this that I've been hearing all night about Abraxis IV?" Kirk asked him.

Spock did react to that. He turned innocent eyes on Kirk, but didn't answer. He looked tired, and Kirk decided not to press. "Your father certainly has tight security," he commented softly, mindful of Vulcan hearing.

"A requirement with this many Federation delegates and political leaders," Spock said, speaking softly. "But it is not so very bad now. Sascek is spending his time farming rather than following my mother around as he must when tensions are very high."

"Sascek. Oh, the big guy with the sehlats. The one with the farm."

"He does farm. But he is my mother's primary guard when circumstances so dictate."

Kirk thought about that. It was comforting to sit sleeve to sleeve with his First Officer. Though he would have been a lot more comfortable in a regular duty uniform. The dress collar was too tight. "Did **you** have guards?" he asked idly.

"There were times when I was escorted to and from school. My movements were generally closely monitored, as a precaution against kidnapping. Most of the time I wasn't **very** tightly guarded. Unless political tensions were particularly high. Sometimes then I was simply sent away to school to be out of the way."

"What fun."

A slight curve quirked the corner of Spock's mouth. "It **was** interesting to go to Starfleet and be just one of many cadets."

"Your parents must have had a fit about that alone," Kirk commented, thinking what was novel and probably liberating to Spock must have created a great many headaches for Spock's parents. And perhaps some higher ups in the Academy.

Spock looked down and didn't answer.

Kirk had never thought about what a security risk it must have seemed to Sarek for Spock to be in Starfleet. Now he looked across at the elder Vulcan speculatively, wondering if Sarek's cutting off his son from him might have been a form of protection, in a convoluted way. Certainly Sarek had done everything he could to make it plain that his son had no worth to him once he'd joined Fleet. Less value for ransom perhaps? If so, he had a slightly better opinion of Sarek. But only slightly.

"Not to mention what a risk **Starfleet** took on, at least while you were at the Academy," Kirk mused, thinking through all the ramifications.

"I trust I wasn't too much of an **inconvenience** to anyone," Spock finally said, with a bit of an edge to his voice.

"I didn't mean it **that** way," Kirk said.

Spock didn't answer.

"Hey, are you miffed at me?"

Spock didn't reply for a moment, as if still displeased. "I believe it was less complicated before you knew who I was."

"Well, I think you might have **told** me," Kirk countered.

"The information was available for anyone who pried with any depth into my background. And since you find the information unwelcome, perhaps my reticence spared you that discomfort."

"Spock, you know that this **isn't** who you are."

Spock frowned at him and looked away again.

Kirk sighed at that. "I seem to be putting my foot in my mouth tonight. I didn't mean -"

"I'm going to get something to drink," Spock said. He rose, leaving Kirk open mouthed.

"Hey, Jim," McCoy said, sitting down next to him. "Spock looked a bit peeved. Did you just tick him off?"

"I think I actually might have."

"You can join **me** in the doghouse then," McCoy said amused.

"You're always in the doghouse," Kirk said.

"So you've found out what that's like?" Abrams asked McCoy. "I've been in **that** club for thirty years."

"He and I had a slight _contretemps_ earlier," McCoy said. "But fortunately or not, I rank him in medical authority, if nowhere else. Sooner or later he **has** to deal with me."

"I'm still waiting for you to **fix** him," Kirk growled in an undertone to McCoy, "so we can get out of this mess and back to our real life."

"What makes you think this isn't real life?" McCoy asked.

"This isn't who Spock is," Kirk argued.

"Sure it is," McCoy said. "This is the first eighteen years. Fleet's the second."

"I think the more recent ought to hold more weight."

"Never heard of 'give me a child for the first seven years and I'll give you the man'3?" McCoy asked airily, clearly the better or worse for a little celebrating and the refreshments he'd consumed.

"I don't really want to," Kirk said.

"**That's** pigheaded stubbornness worthy of a Vulcan. No wonder you and Spock get along so well."

Uhura came over, and Kirk immediately felt better just looking at her, and was glad she hadn't been chased away with the other guests. "That **is** some dress, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, Captain," she said, with a conscious smile for his regard. "This is some **party**. I've conversed with six Federation constituents whose language I've never spoken outside of a tutorial. And do you know there's a Helios being here? I've been hoping to talk with her. But I haven't been able to **catch** her yet. Every time I see her, before I can reach her through the crowd, she flies away."

"We'll ask Spock for a butterfly net," McCoy said, chortling at his own joke.

"Good evening, Lieutenant," Spock said, returning. "You should be able to have that opportunity before the evening ends. Ambassadress Ning **is** still here."

"Mr. Spock," Uhura looked at him, wide eyed. "I hope you're feeling better. We're all eager to see you make a full recovery."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Spock said, looking down. "I appreciate your good wishes."

"This is quite a party," she said, "You have a beautiful home."

A human began a loud strumming on a guitar and Uhura looked over.

Amanda came out of the pool, and shrugged into the terry robe Sarek held for her.

"Sing, Mandy," Christian Porter, who was playing the guitar, importuned.

"**Not** wet and chilled," Sarek ordered in a stern voice.

"All right, I'll change, I'll change," Amanda said to Sarek in a long suffering voice. She went off to the cabana and came back sans her fancy dress, in shorts and a simple shirt, her hair still in the braided tail.

"Your hair is wet." Sarek said.

"And it's going to stay that way for a while," Amanda countered. "Don't nag, Sarek. I'm not going to melt."

"Well?" Christian asked, hands on his guitar.

Amanda looked across at him, around at the guests, many of them expectantly turning from their conversations, and shrugged one shoulder. "Pick something," she said.

The human began strumming on the guitar, and Amanda drew a breath and, sang.

After a moment, McCoy's mouth dropped open. For all that she sang with no fanfare and no preparation, Amanda Grayson really **could** sing. Her voice was clear and light, clean in phrasing, lilting from note to note effortlessly through its range, her tone magically sustained in spite of Vulcan's lack of oxygen. "Now I know where Spock gets that musical talent," McCoy muttered.

"Oh, Sarek can play too," Abrams answered him back, in the same undertone. "But he almost never does in company. Sometimes he will, but I doubt it with this group tonight. It's a bit too large for his taste."

The party took a definite musical turn, of a personal nature, far removed from the fancy orchestra of before. When Amanda finished her song, Chris then played an instrumental piece on his guitar that had humans tapping toes and couples dancing on the pool terrace, not the formal dancing of the ballroom, but contemporary lighthearted dancing. Then, with some importuning from others, Linnea and her husband sang a duet sans accompaniment, a plaintive air that in spite of lack of translation, brought a tear to McCoy's eye. Two other humans performed. At that point, two women who looked vaguely Orion began an impromptu drumbeat, and sang something that from their wicked grins and arching brows sounded risqué, except that the most licentious parts appeared to be in an untranslated language.

That appeared to put the gathering in an amused mood, and Chris then said. "Sing _Secret Love_, Mandy."

"Oh, you don't want to hear **that**," Amanda said absently, toweling dry her hair.

But it appeared many did. A Vulcan - not Sarek, played a string intro on a lyre, and Amanda flicked a brow, set aside her towel, and again began without fanfare.

_Once I had a secret love_

_That lived within the heart of me_

She sang the song with irony, obviously amused by its over-the-top lyrics, looking from the crowd to sing unembarrassed to her husband, who had the tolerant but long suffering look of amusement that McCoy was well familiar with from seeing it often on Spock. But McCoy could see why she'd been asked to sing it. Apart from the teasing lyrics, it showcased the range of her voice as she skipped from note to note.

"Wow. She can **really** sing," McCoy said.

"She sings with the Academy Players," Abrams said. "Chris," he nodded to the man, hands stilled on his guitar listening raptly, "leads that group. Half a dozen of the people here tonight are in it as well. And they're **all** good. But Amanda is pretty exceptional even for that group. She gets a lot of practice. They usually do an opera a year. And Amanda is in it, when her other duties permit."

"Sarek doesn't mind?"

"He never misses a rehearsal," Abrams said, a bit sourly. "Much less a performance. So what do **you** think?"

"You in that group, Mark?"

The physician shook his head. "Fortunately, or unfortunately, I can't carry a tune. And have **no** desire to embarrass myself before that kind of audience. Vulcans are musical snobs. They can hear a quarter tone flat or sharp. It takes confidence as well as skill to sing before that kind of audience. And while humans were originally the main patrons, now a lot of Vulcans attend. It's gone from a little Shikahr group that performed mostly for friends, to a planet and even a sector phenomenon. I'll pass, thanks."

When Amanda finished her song to general applause, Kirk spoke up and said, "Uhura, **you** should sing something."

"Oh. I couldn't," Uhura demurred, looking both flattered to be asked but bowled over by Amanda's performance. "I don't think I'm quite in this league," she said softly to Kirk.

"Sure you are," he answered back.

"Do we have a new songbird in our midst?" Linnea asked, turning expectantly toward the _Enterprise_ officers.

"Oh, you must," Amanda said. "We could use some new voices."

Uhura glanced around the group and smiled, recovering her confidence before their obvious entreaty. "Well, if Mr. Spock would be kind enough to accompany me..."

Spock had been sitting near Kirk, listening silently as was his usual habit, but he didn't seem daunted by the suggestion. He rose and joined Uhura before the group. Between the lyre and guitar offered him, he accepted the lyre. McCoy rather hoped Uhura wouldn't be too wicked in company - she had a mischievous side to her too when it came to teasing Spock and their occasional performances. But Spock didn't give her the option. He started the opening bars of _Beyond Antares_, one of the tamer of Uhura's selections, raising a brow to see if she accepted that option, and she nodded and began.

Uhura was like Amanda in that she sang with unselfconscious effortlessness, except for her lack of acclimation to the scarce oxygen. But the group wasn't large enough to require she cover a concert hall, and she managed well enough, recovering her aplomb after a verse and singing one verse suggestively to Spock, who flicked a brow at her, amused but undrawn, and unbent enough to join her in the last verse.

McCoy saw that Amanda was looking between the two, a look of wild surmise on her face.

"That was lovely, my dear," she said, when they finished.

Uhura demurred singing again, obviously struggling a bit for breath in the thin air. "But you should play something, Mr. Spock."

That gave everyone a bit of pause. Uhura's request was innocent. She didn't know much about Spock's problems with his parents, or any of his post mission details. And in the give and take performances in the Enterprise's rec room, Spock had generally performed more or less willingly when importuned. She didn't realize that he might never have done this before this sort of group, or that it might not be politic for him. His guests did, though, and some glanced from him to Sarek to Amanda, a bit curiously.

Now his brow furrowed a little, though he seemed unaware that at least part of the assembly held its collective breath. It appeared though, that he was merely thinking of what he might play. He held out his hand, exchanging the lyre for the guitar. McCoy hadn't known Spock could play a guitar as well as a piano and a lyre.

Spock strummed the opening bridge and tilted his head, and everyone realized he was going to sing as well as play. He sang a ancient Terran folk song. The lyrics were simple, but it had an intricate melody in the guitar accompaniment, to which he did full justice. When he finished, he handed the guitar back matter-of-factly and went to his seat before an audience almost too stunned to clap.

At this point, Chris played a soft instrumental, and casual conversation resumed. Uhura had latched onto the amphibianoids and was deep in conversation with them.

McCoy went off to make himself a drink when a clatter of wings near him half staggered him. He found beside him a being with huge wings, faintly luminescent, who was forgoing the refreshment table to browse in the foliage. "You're a Helios being, aren't you?" McCoy asked, looking the creature over appreciatively. "Never met one of your kind before."

"I am," the creature said. "Ambassadress Ning."

"Leonard McCoy," McCoy introduced himself. "You're a pretty thing," he said, eyeing the multi-colored gossamer wings.

Ning turned toward him. Her huge eyes had no lids, just several layers of nictating membranes, and they were faceted like jewels. "I wish I could return the compliment, Leonard," she said.

McCoy took a step back, because her jaw opened on a mouth like a maw, with a set of wickedly serrated teeth.

"But humanoids seem like an exceptionally unattractive species to me. Though naturally I am fond of our hosts. And if she did her hair differently, and wore a set of wings, Amanda could be a **reasonably** comely creature. But she is as weak as a nymph," Ning sighed in pity. "At least she has a decently stocked garden."

"Are you maligning me, Ning?" Amanda asked, coming up behind them. "Excuse me," she said to McCoy, getting herself a drink. "Singing is thirsty work."

"You have put in more _Lonicera_," Ning told her. "I approve."

"Do you like the new varieties?" Amanda asked her, sipping her drink. "Honeysuckle," she said to McCoy. "I ordered them from Terra just for **you**," she said to Ning.

"They smell fabulous," McCoy said.

"And taste better. I may take a cutting," Ning said. "Or two."

"Whatever you like," Amanda said. "And there's a new trumpet vine, hanging on the second arch over, which you might find to your taste."

"Well, you **might** have said so to me **earlier**," Ning said, partly offended, "You must recall that I always prefer to try a new bloom on a _clear palate_." She took off, her huge wings staggering McCoy in their downdraft.

Amanda met McCoy's eyes with amusement, struggling against a smile, and then she broke down and laughed, and McCoy joined in.

"You have an eclectic group of friends, Amanda," McCoy said.

"And you have a very pretty communications technician on the _Enterprise_," Amanda said, noticing the Enterprise's officer's attention on her. Uhura's disappointment at Ning's departure was visible. "I suppose it is too much to ask if she is in love with my son?"

"She's not a tech. She's a command officer. I think they are mostly just good friends. They tease each other at times." McCoy looked from Uhura to Amanda, seeing the similarities between them and understanding as never before why Uhura had ever gotten Spock to perform with her in the Enterprise's Main Rec. He'd grown up seeing such performances.

"Even better," Amanda said. "You've **got** to have a sense of humor to deal with a Vulcan. Love is all very well, and I wouldn't marry without it, naturally. But it doesn't go nearly far enough in facing life with a Vulcan." She looked over at Uhura speculatively. "I don't suppose she'd be seduced by a Vulcan castle, a nearly unpronounceable title, and a life of political intrigue? I'd promise her more but the good ones are never mercenary in that way, worse luck. I might even be willing to clear out of the Fortress and move to the Palace if it meant a girl like **that** would be taking my place here with my son."

McCoy choked in laughter at her question, clearly half serious, half irony. "I wouldn't want to speak for her." He raised a brow, turning serious. "I'd think Sarek and T'Pau would want Spock to hook up with another high-born Vulcan girl like T'Pring."

"Please, Leonard," Amanda said, giving him an aggrieved look. "Don't say that name in my house."

"She was a piece of work," McCoy agreed. "Can't say Spock grieved over **her** either."

"I don't really care what Sarek or T'Pau want in that vein," Amanda said. "Their team struck out. Their choice nearly got my son killed. Not to mention his friend and Captain. And the clock is ticking. I don't think we care to risk any surprises again. And while I would be the last to say that marriage to a Vulcan is a non-stop picnic, it would be easier with Spock than it has been Sarek. And my son's not a bad catch. Intelligent, handsome, kind. Not nearly as full of himself as his father is."

McCoy choked in laughter again.

"And as for her, anyone who can induce Spock to sing love duets in front of a mixed crowd of strangers, that incidentally includes his parents, and his formidable father, must have almost **supernatural** powers of attraction for him. He obviously likes her. She seems to like him. I didn't know he had those kind of friends on the Enterprise."

"I don't know," McCoy mused. "They are friends, of a sort. But as senior officers they're in the direct chain of command. She **works** for him. So a relationship between them beyond mere casual socializing in the rec room after watch is pretty much inappropriate in this Starfleet. I doubt it has gone farther than limited friendship."

"Am I supposed to really care about Starfleet?" Amanda asked, not sounding as if she was really seeking McCoy's opinion. "Because I **don't**."

"Well, Uhura is a good officer and a professional. She and Spock are both Fleet officers, so they obviously have cared to maintain the professional requirements of their relationship." He raised a brow and decided to put in a word for Christine. "I can tell you I have a Chief Nurse who's been desperately in love with your son. I don't think **she'd** have any trouble giving up Fleet."

Amanda gave him a sidelong look, rife with disparity. "You mean the soppy fake blond who couldn't keep her hands or her eyes off him? Or Sarek for that matter? Desperate is right."

McCoy raised brows at that. "She's a good person."

Amanda made a face, a mixture of impatience and regret. "I'm sure she is. And I'm sorry, Leonard. But she's totally wrong for Spock. He could never be attracted to a nurse, even apart from her... maudlin attitude. The medical profession is not exactly a favorite of his. And he surely wouldn't want a nursemaid who wants to moon over him. And hold his **hand**," she added, warming to her grievance. "It's totally unethical for her to do that to a Vulcan when he was not conscious, and able to consent. When I caught her at it, I was so miffed it was all I could do not to **sock** her."

"I have spoken to her about that," McCoy said gravely. "She doesn't mean it in a predatory way. She's just...human."

"Vulcans are **touch**-telepaths. It's..." Amanda shook her head, beyond exasperation, forcing herself to use more polite words than she was thinking. "practically mental rape of a sensitive telepath, which Spock is."

"Okay," McCoy held up hands in mock surrender. "I get it. Christine's out."

"Besides, she's too old for him."

"I can't really say that Spock has ever seriously encouraged her."

"He needs someone who can make him laugh," Amanda finished, looking over at Uhura speculatively. "And **sing**."

"Does Sarek?" McCoy asked.

Amanda looked back at him and raised a brow, Vulcan style. "Totally inappropriate," she warned him with a _no trespassing_ air.

"Got it."

"And don't think that Spock is entirely Sarek. He is, and he isn't. And I don't think any of us, even Spock, know quite what that mix is."

Uhura came over, and smiled tentatively at Amanda. "I've so enjoyed the party, Lady Amanda. Thank you for inviting us."

"We're very pleased to welcome you," Amanda said.

"I **was** hoping to speak with Ambassadress Ning," Uhura said, looking anxiously after where the Helios being flew. "I've never spoken with a Helios before. Did she say she was leaving?"

"Not at all," Amanda said. "She's gone off to browse a trumpet vine in another part of the gardens."

"Oh, good. I'm getting a lot of practice in some of my less familiar languages this evening," Uhura said. "It's been a real treat. And **that** one would make my evening."

"Speaking of making evenings," Amanda said, still looking over Uhura speculatively from top to toes. She shrugged at Uhura's puzzled look and got back to Uhura's concerns. "We can certainly arrange introductions to whomever in the Alliance you'd care to meet with, to practice," she said. "While you are here."

"I'd be very grateful."

"If you'd like, you can spent the night, and we can set up appointments for you tomorrow."

"Oh, I have to take the con mid-watch," Uhura said, "but thank you."

"Can't see why," McCoy groused. "I mean, what good can a command officer **do**, when the darn ship's in pieces? It's absurd."

"It's **regulation**, Doctor," Uhura said, giving him an exasperated look. "There has to be a command officer in charge."

"Well, I won't try and persuade you from your regulations," Amanda said dryly. "I know how devoted Fleet officers are to those. And have had previous experience in trying to divert anyone from his duty for any reason at all."

"You can't switch with anyone?" McCoy prompted Uhura.

Uhura shook her head sadly. "I switched to get time off to go to this party," she confessed. "So, I can't."

"Well, perhaps you can come for lunch some day," Amanda suggested. "Certainly if you have any trouble arranging the contacts you wish to converse with - you have had an introduction now from this party tonight - but if you need more help, don't hesitate to contact us."

"That's very kind of you, Lady Amanda," Uhura said.

"Not at all," Amanda said. "I'd like to get to know my son's fellow officers and friends better. You seem to be ...something... of the latter."

Uhura looked at Amanda with sudden consciousness. "I hope I didn't embarrass Mr. Spock, in front of his Vulcan associates."

"He didn't seem embarrassed to me," Amanda said with a telling smile. "He seemed to be enjoying himself."

"Mr. Spock and I are friends," Uhura explained.

"Hmmm," Amanda said at that. "Oh," she turned her head as someone called her name. "Excuse me."

"Was she getting at what I was **think** she was meaning?" Uhura asked McCoy in an undertone.

"I think she was," McCoy said with a nod.

"Wow," Uhura said.

"You wouldn't fancy being chatelaine of a castle, now would you?" McCoy murmured. "You'd get all the practice in obscure languages here that you could want. Among other things. And don't tell me you haven't flirted with him."

Uhura looked over at Spock. "Get real, Doctor. He's tall, dark, and handsome. And the bridge at mid-watch can get very dull at times. Of **course** I have succumbed to flirting a bit."

"Regulations aside," McCoy teased.

"I can't say he's ever flirted back all that much. Not so that I'd - I mean, we tease each other, sure."

"You've always known who he was, haven't you?" McCoy asked.

Uhura's expression didn't give. "I'm a communications expert. What do you think?"

"Hmmm." McCoy thought about that. "As one, you know that teasing goes a long way with a Vulcan."

"I knew that he'd been ...promised. It **was** just teasing."

"But then he got divorced."

"I knew his parents would set him up with someone else. I mean I **did** know who he was, Doctor. I'm not a fool like," she bit her tongue before she said a certain blond nurse's name. "He's not likely to marry anyone out of a certain political line. Do you **know** who his **Grandmother** is?"

"I do. But Amanda seems to have taken a shine to you. Maybe you ought to accept that invitation to lunch," McCoy advised. "Though I don't know **I'd** fancy Sarek as a father-in-law."

"I think I'm going to faint," Uhura said.

"Don't worry," McCoy chuckled. "A bit of triox, and a stab of courage - you've got plenty of that - and you could end up half running this planet."

"I **am** going to faint," Uhura said, sitting down. But the look on her face was thoughtful. McCoy sank down beside her. "Doctor, how **is** Mr. Spock?"

McCoy bit his lip. "Best not ask too much about that."

"He's very gaunt. A bit frighteningly so. But he seems ...well enough?" she looked up at McCoy.

"He's well enough for this sort of thing, though his mental shields are a little fragile, mostly I think with people he knows well. But it may take him a little longer to come back to Starfleet than the Admiralty might give him. We can just do our best to help him get there."

"The Captain must be beside himself," Uhura said, looking across at Kirk, knowing him that well.

"He's had some bad days over it," McCoy admitted cautiously. "As we all have. But we're hopeful."

Uhura nodded. "I'll do whatever I can to help." McCoy looked at her and she blushed. "I didn't mean **marry** him. Well, who knows? But only if we got well past being friends and officers to something a lot more. And I don't really see that happening, do you? We just...tease a bit."

"I've never known him to tease and flirt with anyone else," McCoy said.

Uhura didn't argue with that. "He knows I'm safe." When McCoy looked at her, she said. "We're both officers, **bridge** officers, in the direct line of command. He knows I won't take it any further. And I know he won't. It's just...blowing off steam midwatch. Playing around in the rec room."

"The question is, if he isn't a bridge officer, and those barriers aren't in the way, would you be interested in taking it further? Don't think I'm pushing," McCoy added. "But the subject's come up…"

"I'm sure there are other barriers."

"Stop thinking like a Fleet officer, and think like Nyota."

"He has Vulcan responsibilities. I'm human."

"Didn't stop Sarek."

"Theirs was supposedly a whirlwind romance," Uhura nodded at where Amanda had returned to sit next to Sarek. As they watched, Amanda leaned back against her husband and said something inaudible to him, a smile playing on her lips. "I mean love at first sight," Uhura continued. "All the trimmings, a magical fairy tale," she looked at McCoy. "I'm a comm expert. I can read a news squirt."

"So," McCoy shrugged, "You and Spock are just more grown up than that."

"Doctor," Uhura gave him a look and he raised a telling brow. "I don't know," she confessed. "Never imagined it."

"Maybe it's time to find out," McCoy suggested.

"Surely Spock has enough on his plate." Uhura frowned at McCoy. "I think you've just had a bit too much to drink, Doctor."

"Not that much. And I can't see that it's a burden when people let you know they're fond of you," McCoy said. "Even when it's a supposedly non-emotional Vulcan. Spock does have a lot to deal with now. But I think he can use all the friends he can get. Even if it **is** just friendship. And if it's **more**, well, you know who he is. And if you're attracted too, from a practical perspective, a language expert and a diplomat make a nice mesh."

"I'll think about it," Uhura said.

"Feel about it," McCoy suggested. "And before you go, make sure you say good night to Spock."

"I will," Uhura said, looking a bit dazed. "But I think I need to sleep on all this. For now, I'm going to go look out for that Helios being."

"Second trumpet vine on the left," McCoy said.

Uhura rose and took a few steps away before turning. "What about Christine?" she asked suddenly. "I mean everyone knows how she feels about him."

McCoy shook his head and made a thumbs down. "Not even in the running. Anyway, he doesn't sing and play with her. You know that."

"Jim **would** kill me."

"**Screw** Jim."

"Really, Doctor," Uhura raised her chin. "A little teasing is **one** thing. But I'm **not** that kind of girl."

"Go on, get out of here," McCoy said with a smile. But then he looked back at his Captain with a pensive look and a muttered. "It's **me** that Jim really is going to kill."

The evening wound down. After some prompting, Amanda sang a song from _Cinderella_, and then a duet with another guest. Eventually Chris finished a song and looked over at Amanda as if asking if he should play another set. She shook her head and put her hands out to take the guitar from him.

"I guess this is it," Abrams said. "It's been a nice evening."

"Party's over?" McCoy asked, beginning to rise.

"Not **quite** yet. One more tune," Abrams said, as Amanda settled the guitar on her lap. Running her fingers over the strings, she begun to strum a simple melody.

"This song has developed into something of a theme song for humanoid expats on Vulcan since she first sang it," Abrams muttered to McCoy. "Invariably every one of Amanda's parties ends with it." Abrams shifted a bit uncomfortably. "We **none** of us can easily go home."

At the opening chords, attention turned back from their casual discussions or quiet reflections, sitting up expectantly to listen. She looked around at her guests, gathering their attention as she hadn't quite before, and began to sing and old folk song.

The water is wide

I can't cross over

And neither have

I wings to fly

Give me a boat

That will carry two4

And both shall row

My love and I

McCoy crossed over to sit sleeve to sleeve with Jim. Across from him, Spock had settled solemnly on Kirk's other side, their temporary awkwardness forgotten. The plaintive song had many of the humanoids wiping their eyes and leaning against each other. Amanda eyed Jim when she got to the verse.

A ship there is

And she sails the seas

She's loaded deep

As deep can be

But not as deep

As the love I'm in

I know not how

I sink or swim

When she came to the final chorus Amanda made an inclusive gesture with her hand, and most of the rest of party joined in, at least all the humanoids, some obviously moved beyond all the lyrics implied. Even Abrams, who claimed he couldn't carry a tune, sang softly but with no less feeling. The mood was infectious. The Vulcans listened wide-eyed to the emotional subtext. But then Kirk realized that among all the Vulcans, Spock was singing the chorus too, face set with the same hopeless longing.

The water is wide

I can't cross over

And neither have

I wings to fly

And Kirk bit his lip, suddenly uncomfortable. There had been times in the past when he'd been impatient with Spock's human side. When he'd needed Spock to be Vulcan. To use his Vulcan tricks, abilities to get on with the mission and get them through it.

It brought home a truth to him. Everyone assumed it was the **human** in Spock that he was friends with, which lay at the heart of their deep connection. But that wasn't entirely true. There were times when he needed, and wanted, the Vulcan in him even more.

And Kirk admitted to himself that perhaps here on Vulcan, it was what he felt was lacking most in Spock.

Next to him, sleeve to sleeve, attuned as they were, his shields uncertain, Spock caught that thought. He turned to his Captain and friend, shocked. His eyes wide, his face wild with surmise and accusing.

Kirk drew a breath, to explain, excuse.

But before Kirk could say anything, Spock rose to his feet and left.

_To be continued..._

_review, review, review..._

Footnotes:

1 Lord Byron, _"She walks in Beauty"_

2

"And here's to good old Boston

The land of the Bean and the Cod

Where the Lowells speak only to Cabots

And the Cabots speak only to God"

3 Attributed to Jesuits

4 "_The Water is Wide_" 15th century English folk song


	36. Chapter 36

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 36**

Spock halted at the relative privacy of his workroom, his refuge for much of the first part of his life. But standing on the threshold, breathing raggedly, the furnishings and items seem to mock him with their Vulcan nature - all past interests of his. But also, all past tests too. Tests successfully passed, but serving as a reminder that they had never been good enough tests to assure his status or mark his acceptance on Vulcan.

He closed his eyes against them and moved past all of it, heading for his bedroom, when his terminal beeped with a message and Kirk's voice began to speak. Reacting, not thinking, Spock crushed the terminal with one blow. "Leave me alone," he growled, for good measure sweeping everything off the worktable with one brush of his arm.

He looked down at the disorder he'd created and made a decision. No one would leave him alone here. And he could not bear another voice, another contact, mental or otherwise, another conversation. If he did not answer the comm, Jim would instead be back at his door. McCoy would follow with his scanners. So Spock exchanged his embroidered tunic and slacks for simple desert trek clothes, tied soft sandshoes tight around his ankles and stretched briefly, shaking off the stress of the party, liberated with the prospect of freedom these clothes and the Forge had always represented for him. Leaving everyone and everything behind him. And then he closed the door to his rooms behind him.

At the garden gate the guards were still quite busy, wrapping up party details: tracking the more important guests to ensure they reached their destination. For those for whom escorts were sent to ensure that they arrived safely, their escorts were returning and reporting in. They had little time or attention to spare for a family member leaving on his own.

Spock's departure on foot at night, heading for the Forge did cause some personal, even professional consternation on the part of the guards. But not enough to stop him. It was not at all without precedent for Spock or Sarek to wander the Forge at night, even sans weapons or gear as Spock was apparently intending to do. Sarek had left no instructions regarding Spock or any of his guests' comings or goings, either for restrictions or notifications. No one made a move to question or delay him, other than recording his departure time, in computer record and on video. No one notified Sarek.

xxx

"Well, that's done," Amanda said, sitting down at her dressing table as Sarek closed the door to their bedroom behind them. "I guess we got through it all right."

With only the two of them as witnesses, Sarek let out a measured sigh of his own. He leaned against the portal he'd just closed and for the first time that evening his shoulders relaxed. "I don't know why humans consider these **social** events, especially given you regard them as such an ordeal."

"I don't mind the **second** part of the evening," Amanda clarified, slipping off her shoes. "It's the first that always reminds me of mixing matter and anti-matter. That's one volatile mix to nursemaid. I am never quite sure what to expect."

"We don't have to host them," Sarek said, moving to settle on a nearby bench.

"Oh, yes we do," Amanda said, looking at her husband in the mirror as she undid the plait in her hair. "It's not like before the Federation, when all Vulcan had to consider was its own Alliance. With humans, a lot of work gets done at parties and social gatherings." She ran her fingers through the unplaited strands and picked up a brush. "Spock did well enough, though, don't you think?"

"He didn't faint," Sarek allowed in a dry tone.

Amanda lips twisted. "The whole galaxy misunderstands Vulcans because no one knows that you make jokes but me."

"In fact, I wasn't attempting humor," Sarek said, watching her, slowly easing his own mental shields and disciplines. "I considered it a distinct possibility. This event was too large and too soon for him."

"Well, since he said that he wanted to go to Council next week, I thought this would be a good trial run," Amanda argued. "It was at home. He could duck out if it got to be too much. He won't be able to do **that** at Council, not with every eye judging him and on him, both on planet and off. Conversely, if he could get through this, he can get through that. Anyway, I knew you'd be keeping a close watch on him."

"Given only a few days ago he attacked his physician and me, I could hardly fail to do so."

"Well, I think he managed tonight well. Though he left a bit precipitously at the end. The party was over, but I thought he might stay and say goodbye to our guests. I suppose he was worn out. When I turned around, he was gone. Leonard told me he'd gone off to bed."

"I believe he and his Captain had words."

Amanda put the brush down at that, and turned around to look at Sarek directly. "That doesn't seem likely. As prickly as Jim has been with us, and even with McCoy at times, he's given me the impression he'd walk through fire for Spock. And while you may not credit it, I think Spock would do the same for Jim."

Sarek flicked a brow. "Never-the-less, it is so."

"First McCoy and now Jim," Amanda mused, tugging absently at a knot in her hair.

'"Here, let me," Sarek said, and unraveled the tangled strands with Vulcan patience.

"I could understand Spock being difficult with McCoy. His dislike of the medical profession is legendary. But I don't understand his fighting with Jim. And he usually has a good control of his temper." Amanda looked up at her husband as he ran fingers through the unraveled strands, testing that the knot was gone. "Better than you at times."

"I take exception to that," Sarek countered, giving her a look combined of both amusement and irritation. "Spock does not have a difficult child and a trying wife perpetually testing him."

"Not to mention half the Federation. I do love you anyway," she assured him. "Still, it's not really like Spock to be cranky. Even when he's feeling unwell."

"Something happened with McCoy?" Sarek asked, sitting down again. "Tell me."

"Spock was displeased with how he'd been treated, when Leonard rendered some first aid today."

"I noticed he was limping. How did he that happen?" Sarek's tone indicated some frustration at their son sustaining yet another injury.

"The sehlats knocked him down." At Sarek's skeptical brow, she added, "He jumped in front of them when they were going for Jim."

Sarek shook his head. "A verbal command would have more than sufficed. There was no need for him to hurl himself dramatically in front of his Captain."

"I imagine it was reflex," Amanda shrugged. "Dangerous planets, violent creatures. He'd generally heal a lot quicker than Jim, even if he did get hurt. He might not have considered, in the moment, that he doesn't have the ability now to sustain a healing trance."

"I am not pleased with their influence on his behavior."

"After three, three and a half years with them, their influence would tend to be pervasive. Particularly in situations where there's no time for consideration."

"It is a dangerous course for a Vulcan," Sarek noted. "Perhaps he will make a different choice now."

Amanda sighed. She rose went over to her husband and sat next to him on the bench. "**Please** don't count too much on that, Sarek."

Sarek was thoughtful, musing, staring into space. "So far my assessment concurs with the Admiralty. In no way is he capable of returning to active duty."

Amanda looked up at him. "Maybe they're telling you what they think you want to hear. Maybe you're accepting it because it's what you want to believe." She took his hand in hers. "Don't **count** on it, Sarek."

Sarek frowned and looked at her hand in his. "What are you saying? What do you know?"

Amanda shook her head and laid her head against his shoulder. "I don't **know** what's going to happen with Spock. I'm no prognosticator. I just don't want to see you hurt."

"You wish him to stay."

"I'd like him home," Amanda admitted. "But I hardly know what to **wish** for in this circumstance. If he stays home at this point, it's for all the wrong reasons. I wished we'd had a better clue, raising him." She traced a fragment of gold embroidery on her husband's tunic. "I want him **well** first. **Home**, second. But if that's all I can have, then **well** is what I will settle for."

He laced his fingers through hers.

Amanda looked up at her husband. "And to that point, all night long, there was one word on everyone's lips. And it was Abraxis. That superseded even Spock's attending for the first time in the delegates' minds. Sarek, are we heading for a general session?"

Sarek raised a brow. "Contrary to your fond beliefs, I am not a prognosticator either."

"You're the best one I know when it comes to these things. Sarek, please."

Sarek hesitated a long moment, weighing the information in his mind. "I believe so, yes."

"Those damn fools," Amanda swore. "Firing on a Federation cruiser. And you're supposed to risk your life and Spock's health representing the rights of fools to commit anarchy?"

"It is not quite that simple. They have their own grievances."

"I've read their complaint," Amanda said tersely. "Adolescents should be guided. And adolescent civilizations, until they are civilized, should be curtailed."

"Except their grievance has been taken up by others, with other political issues."

"Impolitic as it may be for the wife of the head of the great Alliance, I tend to agree with Terra on this one," she said.

"I concur that the Alliance will itself be split on this. It will be a very difficult session."

"So now they're to be pawns in a greater war. And they want you to midwife its birth. **No**, Sarek."

"Let us see what happens."

Amanda bit her lip. "How long? Before we're called?"

"Thirty days. Fifty, perhaps. The discussions will begin sooner."

"And they'll want you and no one else." She looked up at him. "What are we going to do?"

"I can't escape submitting a preliminary opinion. But I will do as much of that as is possible by subspace."

"But that's not an answer. I don't see how Spock can be left. His friends will be gone by then. I mean, if he were just...fatigued... he could stay with T'Pau. But even I can see it's not just that."

"No," Sarek shook his head. "His shields are fragile, but the other issues preclude that."

"I suppose we couldn't ask him to join us?"

"And if he needs help or has issues, the middle of negotiations is no place for unexpected surprises." He looked down at Amanda. "We'll have to say no."

She looked up at him with a small, disbelieving smile. "I don't know what to think. And the Federation Undersecretary won't know what to **do**. You almost never refuse to go."

Sarek's mouth set in a rare sign of impatience, not for her, but the exigencies of fate. "I might have been retired at this point anyway."

"Yes, but that didn't work out did it? You said no, and they still got you to go. And you nearly lost your life over it." She shivered in memory.

"I don't see how my going is possible now."

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"This time, there is nothing else to be done." Sarek told her. "I will not send Spock to some Fleet facility, even temporarily." He looked down at her. "But he mustn't **know**, Amanda."

"That you'll refuse the assignment because of him? He's not dumb. He's going to figure it out. And don't tell me he's a child who needs to learn of discipline first. He's that no longer."

"No, but he has enough with which to deal. This is not his concern. And there are numerous issues on Vulcan that require my attention that will provide a reasonable excuse."

Amanda said up and faced her husband. "Sarek, how is he going to learn that sometimes **family** must come **first**, even **before** duty, unless you teach him by example?"

"That's not a lesson he needs to learn."

"Oh, yes it **is**," Amanda snapped, clenching her hands into fists. "I went through hell on the _Enterprise_ because of it."

Sarek shook his head. "But not at this time, my wife." He fixed her with a look. "**No**, Amanda."

Amanda's raised her hand, still in a fist, and thumped it once against her husband's chest, above his heart. "Have I ever told you how much I absolutely, positively, **hate** Vulcans? All Vulcans, full and part, related or otherwise."

"**Never** marry one then," Sarek solemnly recommended.

"Oh, Sarek," Amanda choked, torn between fury and frustrated laughter. "What am I going to do with both of you?"

Sarek answered that question by tilting her head up and kissing her thoroughly.

She looked up at him when he was done. "**That's** no answer."

"We have spent the evening in a sea of words. I am surfeit of such communication." He gave her a significant look. "And politics has been said to be primarily an art of seduction."

She snorted at that. "I wonder if everyone realizes you got to being a great diplomat by practicing your seductive arts on me."

"I believe my approach to each is somewhat different. However, my accomplishments at both could be considered a tribute to your great skills as a teacher."

He drew her close, but she stopped him before he continued. "Wait. Promise me, Sarek. Before he leaves again, if he does leave. That you will tell him that sometimes family does come first. Because at times he's too rigidly Vulcan. And that's not good for a Fleet Officer or a diplomat. And I won't go through what I did again just because you hate to be less than super-Vulcan before him. He doesn't really know you."

Sarek sighed softly. "I will speak to him. When I determine the time is right."

"That could be a century from now," she said scowling. "Am I supposed to be satisfied with that?"

Sarek raised his brows. "I certainly hope you do not need to wait that long to be satisfied."

She looked at him puzzled, then her lips twitched. "You really are wicked."

"But I have not yet had the opportunity to be so tonight, due to your delaying tactics." He scooped her up. "However, I hope to soon remedy that unfortunate situation. And not a century from now."

"Promise me," she said.

"Very well," Sarek relented. "I will attempt to discuss the subject with him. But he can make it difficult."

"Oh, I don't know. How can any of us resist the might of the leader of the great Alliance?" she teased. "I certainly can't."

"You certainly won't," he replied.

And after that, they shelved all thoughts of children, houseguests, allies and politics, and thought only of themselves.

xxx

In another part of the grounds, Kirk hauled himself out of the pool, where he'd just swum a punishing twenty laps, as McCoy came through onto the terrace. McCoy dropped onto a chaise and spread his hands. "Well, he's not talking to **me**. Wouldn't even answer the door."

"That's never stopped you before."

"Medical issues are one thing. Then I have a right to barge in. This is personal."

"Great. He won't answer the comm for me or open the door for you."

"What the hell did you say to him, Jim?"

"I didn't **say** anything."

"Oh." McCoy's brows rose in surmise. "What'd you think?"

"I'm too embarrassed to say."

"Jim!" McCoy's eyes popped. "Now **you** surprise me."

"Oh, come off it, Bones." Kirk grabbed a towel and swabbed his dripping face, using it incidentally as temporary cover. "I was thinking, in the privacy of my own mind, that it was the Vulcan rather than the human in him that I needed more - and what **he** needed to get back to."

McCoy winced. "Ouch. I can see how that wouldn't have gone over well."

"It was just a passing thought."

"Thought or bombshell?"

"Well, his reaction proves my point, doesn't it?"

"Jim, don't go there."

"I'm trying to **help** him. And you know that at times he has a habit, a **bad** habit, of indulging himself too much in emotion. He has no experience of it. So when he does indulge, sometimes he gets lost in it. And maybe we're close to that here. I don't want to see him go down that path again. It doesn't get him where he needs to go. Or us for that matter."

"And where's that, Jim?"

"Back in service."

"What is he, a cart horse?" McCoy idly questioned.

"I don't know why I bother to try to talk to you about any of this," Kirk said disgustedly. "You're a humanist too. You just encourage him in these emotional dalliances. While he wallows, you cheer. When he gets back to Vulcan normal, you snipe. Some help you are."

McCoy shook his head. "Jim. Let me warn you about something."

"And what's that?" Kirk snapped. "Because when you talk in that tone, it's never good."

McCoy sat back in his chair, and fixed Kirk with a warning stare. "Spock is young. He's spent his whole life living according to someone else's behavioral standards. Rules, regulations. Dictates. Eighteen years on Vulcan. Eighteen years in Fleet. He's just been through a life changing experience. Call it a trial by fire. And he's dealing with a lot of confusing feelings right now. But if he's like every **other** officer in his situation, and I honestly don't find Vulcans too different emotionally for all they prate about logic, I can guarantee you under all those conflicting feelings is a whole lot of buried emotions. Buried fury too, maybe."

"I'm not afraid of Spock."

"That's not my point. He went through a trial by fire his **first** eighteen years too. Don't think that the success he had on Vulcan - scholastically and in mastering all those Vulcan disciplines with his half human heritage, and dealing with all the bullying and prejudice he allegedly went through - wasn't a trial of its own. And yet he beat them at their own game. Won. But once he did that, did he stay here on Vulcan? No, he did not. He shook them off, like a duck shaking off water, or damned them all, and went off to find something new."

"I don't get your point, Bones."

McCoy stepped up to Kirk, in his personal space, shaking a finger at him, "If I were you, and interested in seeing Spock return to Fleet, I'd step very carefully now. You don't want to make the same mistake that Sarek did."

"What the hell do you mean?"

McCoy sighed and went off to browse in the ravaged refreshments table, looking for a drink. "I mean I've spent my time on Vulcan very carefully. I told you Vulcans were long lived. Spock's at that awkward adolescent stage, between their teens and sixty, when they take all sorts of odd notions. Most of them follow the disciplines drilled into them from age three, to that very purpose, and they behave themselves. Brainwashed into it. Spock kicked over the traces and went off to Fleet. You'd think it would be taken by Vulcans that it was because of his human side. But in fact, because he had proven he'd mastered all their disciplines before he did it, most of them tend to think it's because of his heritage from Surak's side. That line is considered almost legendary on Vulcan. They don't know what to make of them. And they don't much pretend to try. They don't think of them quite the same as other Vulcans. Surak dragged them all from war to peace. Sarek married a human. Spock went into Fleet. They know they're a bit irrepressible, once they get going. They tend to just get out of their way."

"T'Pring **said** Spock had become a legend."

"And he may not be done. Don't assume that because he's taken your command without a murmur for the past 3-4 years, and Starfleet's orders for the last eighteen, that he's automatically going to fall in line and do that again. He has a long practice of being very good, and then suddenly being very bad, if for bad you take it as doing something entirely unexpected. Don't **order** him back to service. And for heaven's sake don't ever order him into being Vulcan or disparage the humanity in him. That worm may have just turned. **Again**."

"He's my first officer."

McCoy shook his head. "Don't presume, Jim. He cares for you, I'll grant. But I'll wager he loved his father even more. And that didn't stop him then. Remember, he may not always act Vulcan at all times, but he is. Vulcan enough to be **ruthless** enough to walk away from you for eighteen years if he takes it into his head to do so, just like he did with Sarek. And not look back. How would **you** handle **that**? You haven't got his father's Vulcan disciplines."

Kirk looked away.

"So don't push him."

"If I don't push him, he'll end up coddled on this rock forever."

McCoy shook his head and tossed back the remainder of his drink. "You're as pig-headed as a Vulcan. Well, on your head be it. You think about it for a while. I'm going to bed."

"Besides I never **said** anything," Kirk called after him.

"Well, eavesdroppers, telepathic or otherwise, can't be expected to always hear good of themselves," McCoy said, rubbing his forehead. "He's smart enough to know that too. Give him a little time, Jim. Maybe we've all had a little too much to drink, and things will look better in the morning."

xxx

Sarek woke instinctively at the piercing scream of a hunting lematya close to the house. His eyes flicked automatically to the windows, double checking his time sense against the sky, which indicated to him there was at least an hour before sunrise. This was the time when lematya, frustrated perhaps from a night's unprofitable hunting, became ever bolder.

He sat up, sliding carefully away from Amanda sleeping under his arm so as not to awaken her, and listened carefully, frowning slightly. With outworlder guests in his home, he didn't care to have lematya hunting too close to his gates. In spite of Kirk's experience with Lauresa, the human Captain had more than once taken short excursions out on the Forge, once even in the evening. He hadn't gone far, but Sarek had been deeply concerned. He had spoken to Kirk on the incident, reminding him that the Forge was unsafe for the uninitiated between dusk and dawn. Kirk had acknowledged the warning, but it hadn't improved relations between them.

Sarek listened keenly, but there was no further sound.

He slid thoughtfully down next to his wife, musing tiredly over the problem. He hated to relocate a lematya in denning season - it was a tiresome and quite dangerous effort to capture her and her cubs. And those lematya who didn't prudently stay away from habitations were generally females hunting for their cubs; the males were more prudent. But it might be best under the circumstances. He closed his eyes, worrying over the logistics in his mind, inching closer to Amanda - the sifting sounds of her breathing, the slow thud of her human heart were soothing to his senses, when another loud feline scream, even closer, brought him abruptly back up, jostling Amanda in the process.

"What?" she murmured, raising up on one elbow and frowning at him. "Sarek?"

Sarek ignored her, straining to hear, for that scream had been of a lematya in hunting mode and it had been abruptly cut off. Very little could stop a lematya in attack mode. It had no natural predators, save sehlats, and both of theirs were safely behind the garden walls. Vulcans were the only other predators. And all Vulcans should be safely behind the garden walls too, unless it was some restless Shikahr resident, hiking through the preserve. But there was no further sound. That could be good, or bad.

"What?" Amanda asked again.

Sarek finally looked down at her. "Just a lematya."

"Oh." Only too familiar with the nighttime antics of lematya, and tired from the stresses of the party, and its amorous aftermath, Amanda lay back down. Human adaptable, she had learned to sleep through the hunting screams of Vulcan's wildlife, whereas Sarek instinctively woke at them, though he generally managed not to wake her. "It's almost dawn; she'll soon be quiet. Go back to sleep." Amanda put her pillow over her head as a precaution against further feline carrying on and drifted off.

Sarek made as if to join her but then instead drew up his knees, laying elbows on them, and rubbed his temples with his fingers. Logic told him the incident was over. Some other sense told him otherwise. Finally, realizing he was too restless to sleep, he rose, covered his wife and slipped into clothes.

Outside at the gate, the guards also had their heads turned toward the sound. He could see the sehlats were home, for both frisked to him when he stepped out onto the garden court. He trailed a hand through the fur on their heads and ordered them to heel.

"These were **in** when that lematya called, correct?" Sarek asked. He breathed deeply of the night air. Clean and cool, with the pearl blush of dawn on the horizon, and the deep bowl of stars still shining above, the late night or near morning seemed worth rising early to experience.

"Affirmative."

"I can't imagine what might have cut off that lematya in mid attack," Sarek said. "Unless it was some hiker. But you've recorded none, have you?"

Both guards looked at each other uneasily. "Spock is out on the Forge."

Sarek went from an appreciative review of the starfield to meet his guards' eyes, his veins running with ice not related to the chill morning air.

"He left just after everyone retired last evening," they continued.

Between one breath and the next Sarek had shifted his weight, moving into a run, thinking he would take Spock's old flyer to search. Being smaller it would fly and land through and in crevices a larger vehicle couldn't manage, when he was caught by a hand on his arm and a gesture.

"Sarek, wait."

Sarek jerked his arm away, but the guard continued, "See, there!"

He followed the pointing finger. Coming down the switchback trail of the foothills that rose behind and around the Fortress, was Spock.

Sarek narrowed his eyes, straining his vision. Spock was traveling slowly, with desert bred caution on the rocky trail, dangerous with nothing but starlight for illumination. He was moving silently enough not to be detectable even to Vulcan ears. His clothing was clearly sandstained and disheveled, but it didn't appear torn. He was moving with neither undue haste nor distress, i.e., not as if he had been clawed. Sarek got hold of his leaping emotions with an effort, and mastered control of himself. He looked an accusation at his guards.

The guards, seeing the set of Sarek's jaw with some consternation explained. "We had no orders."

"No," Sarek concurred, restraining his temper. "No orders." He would not have expected his son to go out on the Forge at night in his condition. And he had set no order to prevent it.

Spock came around the trail, behind the high garden wall to the gate. He was invisible to them and they to him. When he circumvented the wall, his eyes widened at the sight of his father.

Sarek looked him over. His son's hands were bruised and bleeding, and his clothes were very disheveled. "Presumably you were not scratched. The lematya?"

"She'll be well enough," Spock said, a trace defensively. "When she wakes."

Sarek once again caught hold of his emotions. "One of you take a flyer," he instructed the guards, "and make sure she comes to no harm until she wakes. The coordinates?" he glanced at Spock, who rattled them off.

Sarek jerked his chin slightly toward the house. "Inside."

For a fraction of a moment, Spock resisted. Then he muttered ironically,"_pas devant les domestiques_," and preceded Sarek into the house.

"Kitchen," Sarek said when they had entered. Spock went in.

"Sit down," Sarek ordered.

Spock detoured enough to wash the dirt and dried blood off his hands. Sarek brought a pitcher of juice and two glasses to the table and poured. He set one before Spock. "What were you **thinking**?" he asked.

"Am I not allowed to walk the Forge?" Spock demanded.

"Clearly you are. But was it a prudent act, particularly in your condition?"

"I had no problems."

"Fighting with a lematya **is** somewhat of a problem."

"Am I not Vulcan enough, even for this?" Spock suddenly flared.

Sarek's raised his brows at this outburst. "Where did that come from?"

Spock looked away.

"You've been out all night on the Forge," Sarek said impatiently. "Without water. Drink."

Spock looked at Sarek a moment, disarmed by that, and slowly sipped the juice.

"You were fine throughout the party," Sarek mused. "Until the very last of it. What did your Captain say to you?" When Spock didn't answer, he looked directly at his son. "Spock?"

"I want them gone," Spock said suddenly. "Or I shall go. I should go anyway."

"Hold," Sarek cautioned, switching absently to Vulcanur, rather than the Standard they'd been conversing in. "That is precipitous enough to be emotional. Certainly, they are your guests. If you wish them gone, they can be gone by the end of today. But I must have a reason. What did he say to you?"

Spock didn't answer directly, but he fixed his father with a glare. "I have done," Spock said darkly, "with answering what I am of Vulcan or of Terra." He met Sarek's eyes, his own narrowed in warning. "To **anyone**."

Sarek's brows rose in wild surmise. "He expressed that to you?"

At that, Spock lowered his gaze and shifted uncomfortably.

"Spock?"

"He did not **say** it," Spock temporized.

Sarek let out a little sigh, understanding now. "You caught the thought?" He looked across at his son's head bent in shame. "That was not your fault. Nor **his**, entirely."

At Spock's sudden accusing look, Sarek spread his hands. "I meant that humans' thoughts are undisciplined. Many cross their minds, some entirely unconsciously. It is best not to take any seriously until they express them verbally."

Spock looked away, not engaging.

"I think you are exhausted," Sarek said. "In the aftermath of that party, I myself was fatigued. Such crowds are wearing to even a minimal telepath's shields, which you are not. Between your sensitivity and the present damage to your shields, you naturally were far more affected. Add a night on the Forge, and a fight with a lematya, and I counsel rest and sustenance before making any further serious decisions. Drink that juice. Eat something. And sleep for some hours before acting further.

"I'm not a child."

"Therefore I expect you to act logically," Sarek said. "It is morning and time for breakfast anyway. I will join you." He rose and went to the stasis unit. "Fortunately, the party has provided numerous _leftovers._" He said the last word in Standard, and put a plate of food before Spock. "Eat."

Spock sighed softly but picked up a utensil without further argument. He cleaned his plate more rapidly than Sarek had expected. In fact, it was clear to Sarek that his son was fading fast. Spock didn't object when Sarek accompanied him upstairs. Sarek however paused on entering the workroom, taking in the disorder Spock had left it in. "What has happened here?"

Spock looked at the communications terminal with neither interest nor remorse. "I smashed it."

"Obviously." Sarek shook his head slightly at the violence of that act. "We'll discuss that later."

In the bedroom, Spock tumbled onto his bed without drawing back the coverlet, or shifting clothes, or even removing his shoes. He was apparently asleep before his head hit the pillow. Sarek looked down at him, doubtful as to the merits of waking him enough to have him perform these tasks, and decided against it. "His mother will be furious," he muttered, but he took a throw from a nearby chair and covered Spock, waving down the blinds to prevent the sun from assaulting the sleeper's closed eyes.

That done, he held his hands out, not touching but over Spock, stretching his senses. He was no great telepath. But a parental bond sensitized one to another's mind and physical condition. He could perceive that Spock was indeed deeply asleep, and quite exhausted, but not appreciably injured, nor ill. He had taken no lematya poison. Sarek had known that - the poison acted rapidly and with obvious effects - but having seen Spock's bleeding hands, he'd had to check.

In the workroom, he fingered the smashed communications terminal, estimating the force behind the blow. Interestingly, there was no blood on the smashed metal. So where had he injured himself? Sarek shook his head again slightly, and made his way out.

As he exited the suite, he came face to face with a shamefaced Kirk, who'd apparently risen with first light.

"I want to see him," Kirk said.

"He has just returned. And he is sleeping."

"Returned from where?" Kirk asked.

"He's been out on the Forge all night. He is entirely exhausted, Captain. I must insist you wait to see him until he has woken."

Kirk's eyes widened. "He went out, alone?"

Sarek looked at him, wondering at how little Spock had apparently shared of his Vulcan life with this supposed close friend. "It is our habit to walk the Forge and meditate when one is disquieted by events. Of course, I do not know what events might have caused him to pursue that action now."

Kirk's face closed and he said nothing.

Sarek decided perhaps the best way to keep Kirk away from Spock until his son woke was to distract him. "I must check on a lematya he fought earlier this morning. Perhaps you would care to accompany me?"

"He fought a-" Kirk bit his lip and looked at Spock's closed door again.

"Captain?" Sarek recalled him.

Kirk let out a breath. "All right. Sure. If you want me to go."

"We'll take Spock's flyer," Sarek said. "The old one. It will be better for the narrow passages Spock prefers to traverse."

Sarek paused at the gate to question the guards. "Is Sgarn back?"

"No, but he found the lematya. She is sleeping still. He waits for her to awake."

Sarek nodded. "Let's go," he said to Kirk.

Spock's flyer was a tight fit, not so much for Kirk, but for Sarek. But he folded himself into it somehow and they took off. He flew up the switchback trail, just off the ground, his eyes narrowed and fixated on the trail. He didn't fly very fast, but the jutting rock formations and wind currents made it enough of a daredevil ride, and Sarek's attention was so fixated on the ground that Kirk couldn't help clenching his fists and holding his breath in places. "What are you looking for?" he finally asked.

"I wish to see where and why he sustained his present injuries," Sarek said. "If he did not get them in the lematya fight, I am at a loss to determine their logical origin."

"There's the cat," Kirk suddenly pointed. "Wow. She's a big one."

"Indeed," Sarek said, sounding more than a bit displeased. "Quite large and old. Too experienced to have gone after Spock without good reason."

The guard was there, prudently in his vehicle, but when Sarek flipped his hatch open and stepped out, he came out too. Sarek approached the cat with no more concern than if it were a pet sehlat. Clearly uneasy, the guard tossed him a stun phaser, which Sarek caught without looking at it. He looked the animal over carefully. "She is not bleeding," he said. He reached out and touched a green smear on her ruff, and held the stain to his nose. "This is not lematya blood." He looked around the scene of the fight, nostrils flaring. "There is nothing here. Let us move on." He tossed the phaser back to the guard.

They got back in Spock's flyer and went on up the trail. There was nothing really that Kirk could see, or understand what Sarek might be looking for. Then Sarek's hands froze on the aircar controls and brought the craft down. "This is new."

"This was one of Spock's favorite meditation spots," Sarek explained, as they walked over to a lookout point over the deserts and city far below. "But there was a natural abutment here. And now..."

If there had been something there, Kirk could see nothing but crushed and crumbled stone now. Rubble and sand. Sarek looked with puzzlement, even some distress over the chunks of rock, his nostrils flaring. Then he picked up a fist sized stone, and held it out to Kirk, showing the smears of dried coppery blood. "He did this."

Now that Sarek had pointed the first out, Kirk could see how many of the chunks of rock were smeared and stained.

"He injured himself here destroying this rock formation," Sarek said. "And when he was done, still bleeding, he walked back. The lematya scented the blood and assumed he was compromised. She is an older creature, large. Too smart to risk an attack upon any but a weakened Vulcan. She followed, tracking him to the location below, where they fought. He then put her down, and came home."

"But what would drive him to smash this rock wall into rubble?" Kirk wondered. "Could she have caught him **here**, and they fought, and they destroyed the wall during the fight -"

"There are no claw patterns indicating a lematya attack here, Captain. Only pads in, and pads out. Not running, or leaping. Walking slowly. What drove him to do this was some ...personal...fury. And he was alone when it occurred."

"He's angry with me," Kirk said.

Sarek eyed Kirk a moment, and then shook his head in a Vulcan negative, the slightest jerk of his chin to the left. "He is obviously angry. But this indicates something far more driving it than a momentary slip of words or thoughts."

"McCoy said, that once he started feeling better, he would be angry over what happened to him. Maybe that's all this is. And now he has gotten it out of his system," Kirk suggested hopefully.

Sarek thought of Spock this morning, warning him he would answer to no one for his dual nature. "I think not."

"I used to think it was as simple as you and I fighting over him, Sarek," Kirk admitted. "And one of us would win and one of us would lose." He eyed Sarek. "And I was **determined** it was going to be me who won."

Sarek let that pass. "It is not that simple, Captain."

Kirk dropped the blood-stained rock and he sighed, his eyes bleak. "Maybe he's decided the hell with all of us."

Sarek couldn't counter the possibility.

Together in thought for the first time, they looked over the shattered, pulverized and bloodstained stones in silent unease.

_To be continued..._


	37. Chapter 37

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 37**

By the time Sarek and Kirk returned to the Fortress, Amanda and McCoy were already down in the breakfast room.

"Where have you been?" Amanda asked her husband. Apparently there had been a hardcopy mail delivery, for she was going through various packets.

Sarek didn't betray by word or face that anything was amiss, though he'd momentarily forgotten that Amanda knew nothing of Spock's present troubles. "I went to check on a lemayta amiss on the Forge. The Captain accompanied me."

Her brows rose at this unlikely alliance, but she shrugged and gestured to a courier packet emblazoned with Federation High Council ribbons and seals. "**That **came for you. It had better not be marching orders."

"Marching orders?" McCoy asked.

"My wife refers to off-world diplomatic assignments," Sarek said, giving the packet a chary glance. "Since my duties on Vulcan preclude my accepting any such at this time," he looked across at Amanda, who met his gaze, her eyes wide and full with consequence, "it is …of no matter." He drew a breath as if resigning himself to some inevitability. "I'll open it after breakfast."

He sat down next to his wife his fingers briefly brushing Amanda's.

"And there's one for you, Jim," Amanda added after a moment, passing it across to him.

Kirk looked up from draining the cup of coffee he'd snagged and frowned at it.

"It's **been** security scanned," she assured him, setting it on the table, when he failed to take it from her. "There's no bomb in it."

Kirk opened it slowly, his face set in a stern command vein. "Fleet orders," he said to McCoy, his tone indicating he was concerned for a bombshell of a different kind.

"Little unusual isn't it, for them not to send them via normal communication channels." McCoy asked warily

"I'm sure there's a spare set, waiting for me aboard _Enterprise_," Kirk said. "I mean, essentially we're in a foreign… embassy," he said, with a gesture at their surroundings.

"Oh, that word," Amanda said, with a trace of a smile, obviously trying to lighten the mood.

"The security precautions and the method of delivery are necessarily going to be a little different." Kirk let the chip in the packet do its retina scan and then settled down to read the top document.

"What is it, Jim?" McCoy asked, seeing Kirk's expression darken.

"Personnel dossiers," Kirk said, sounding incredulous, as he spilled out the enclosed fax sheets. "Candidates for First and Science officers." He set his jaw, his eyes narrowing. "I'm to indicate any comments or issues, **before** they make final decisions." He pushed the packet away with an abrupt gesture.

Amanda glanced at Sarek, and he shrugged infinitesimally.

"Well, at least they're giving you that courtesy," McCoy said, thinking of Komack's ambivalence about Kirk's command. "It could be worse."

"Worse?" Kirk said sharply.

McCoy picked up the orders, paying no mind to the usually confidential nature attached to sealed orders and read through them. "You gave the Admiralty a hard time after Spock's capture. That didn't make you any friends there. So their offering this courtesy is good, Jim."

"I don't think their intending to replace Spock could be called a courtesy."

"Courtesy to you. You ruffled more than a few feathers there, Jim, and before we took leave they weren't any too pleased with you about it. This is a good sign that you haven't made too many enemies because of it."

"I wouldn't call replacing Spock a good sign."

"It doesn't say they're replacing him," McCoy said with exaggerated patience. "It just says in the event that he can't return to duty, they are making preparations for transfers. There's nothing wrong with that. It's prudent."

"I thought you were working on reports about getting us more time."

"Yesterday we were a bit busy," McCoy said, "We agreed to wait till after the party."

"Bones," Kirk warned.

"I'll have them done today, Captain, sir." McCoy shrugged, looking through the papers. "But Spock's going to have to turn the corner and start cooperating with me if this is going to work, Jim. Really cooperating. It's going to mean hard work."

Kirk looked at Sarek. "And I need to talk to Spock as soon as he wakes. In fact, I think we need to get that healer, the one that was here the first day, Sivesh, back out here. See if he can jump-start Spock's recovery more than he's managing on his own."

Sarek looked to Amanda and then back to Kirk. "I have no problem with bringing Sivesh back for a followup consultation. That has been a given, once Spock recovered his strength. However, even if the Healers concur that he is now ready for that step, it is up to Spock whether he chooses to accept a Healer-initiated trance at this time. There are dangers as well as benefits to that for his condition, as was evidenced by their first attempt at a deep healing trance for Spock. If you recall, Captain, they could not bring him out of it."

"That was days ago. He's ready now."

For a moment Sarek stared at Kirk, marveling at the human ability to see only what it wanted. Kirk appeared to have discounted, if not entirely forgotten, what they had just seen up on the mountain. Perhaps that narrow vision was sometimes necessary in a military hierarchy, to accomplish missions at any cost. But he found it disconcerting.

"He is stronger," Kirk insisted, as if Sarek's silence was indicative of disagreement.

"I concur as to that," Sarek carefully allowed. "And Sivesh may believe a trance is now warranted, provided it will not further risk the recovery of his shields. But that is also Spock's risk. And his decision alone," Sarek warned. "Haste may not be best overall methodology-"

"And I need to talk to Spock," Kirk overriding that with a command snap, glaring now at Sarek. "Now."

"**When** he awakes," Sarek said, not giving an inch in return.

At this clash of titans, Amanda and McCoy exchanged glances.

"Jim, you and I have some work to do," McCoy reminded him. "Regarding some Admiralty reports. And you might as well bring those orders too, because like it or not, you have to reply to them. Come on, Jim. Spock was up all night, we can give him a few more hours to sleep."

After a moment, Kirk allowed himself to be taken away.

"I think things are going to get interesting," Amanda remarked to her husband.

Sarek concurred with the flick of a brow.

xxx

When Spock finally stirred a few hours later, Eridani was half way up to its midpoint, and all traces of yesterday's party had been eradicated from the gardens outside. The noise from clearing the party had not woken him. He was driven awake by the conviction - a human might call it a dream - that he was late for school or had fallen short on some important task. His mentors were universally displeased, and some unpleasant discipline from Sarek was no doubt inevitable.

He turned over, the throw Sarek had put around him dropping to the floor. Spock sat up, puzzled by his attire, before realizing he'd fallen asleep in his sand-stained, dirty clothes. Considering what his mother might have to say about the perhaps irretrievable damage he'd done to his bed's antique coverlet, given that she was technically responsible for historic artifacts in the Fortress, he shifted his anticipation of discipline from Sarek to her. With that, the evening's previous events came back to him in a rush. He sighed wearily, rubbing his temples, fully transported to the present, but unsurprised by his anachronistic dream. Something about returning to his parent's home seemed to transform him from an adult Starfleet officer responsible for one of the most deadly heavy cruisers in the Federation's Starfleet, into the adolescent he'd been when he'd first left Vulcan. That his memory of his past Fleet career seemed sketchy and spotty only exacerbated the prevalence of his Vulcan, as opposed to his Starfleet life, in his thoughts.

In spite of several hours sleep, he was still weary. And unwell in other respects, dehydrated, sore from his long nighttime hike and his other less than commendable activities. And emotional as the characterization might be, he felt heartsick. Anticipating the future interactions with those outside his door - McCoy's demands, Jim's expectations, his formidable father's comments on last night's activities, and now expecting his mother's reaction to his latest destructive carelessness, Spock almost wished he had stayed out on the Forge. Far out. Or somewhere equally beyond reach of all of them.

He put his head in his hands, and closed his eyes. For all of McCoy's counselling everyone on allegedly not pushing, it had made little difference to Spock. It hardly mattered what went unsaid, or unspoken. He still felt the expectations of everyone around him battering his shields, like seeing sunlight through closed eyelids. He always had. But it was worse now, enough that he was sometimes physically uncomfortable around it. And all he wanted was to get away. From all of it.

But there was a difference now in his own attitude toward those expectations. Before he had often felt inadequate, that he was falling short when he failed to meet other's expectations, either of Vulcan or human. But now what he felt, justified or not, was resentment. All these individuals telling him what to do, what to think, how to behave. When **they** had woken up every day of their lives knowing what they were. **They** were Vulcan. Or human. They had a place, a course to follow, a real, documented, history. They were, to some aspect of his mind, real.

And at the moment, he felt profoundly unreal. He had no history, no established place, no world of his own. His course was essentially his own to navigate. Or perhaps he could have no course. And as for behavioral standards, the two species from which he had sprung were so wildly divergent on the chief principles of emotion and logic as to make the dual aspect of his natures almost schizophrenic.

But far from feeling ashamed or apologetic for not meeting any of this, as he had so often been in the past, his current mindset had changed. Instead, he now resented the very notion that these singular and self assured individuals believed they had **any** notion of how to chart his course at all. McCoy with his constant harping on the superiority of emotions over logic. Sarek with the reverse. His mother with her peculiar habit of backing Sarek's behavioral standards for him until it conflicted with her own in some particular point, and then damning him for not accommodating that one deviation.

In the past, Jim had been one of the few whom he'd thought had accepted him largely for what he was. But now he saw that that had been inaccurate. Jim had been accepting of him because what he had been had largely coincided with Kirk's own need for a second-in-command. Human enough to relate easily with Captain and crew, but Vulcan where such conferred an advantage.

But now Spock remembered other times, when he had been somewhat too human for Kirk, when it had interfered with Kirk's needs or his duty, or the mission. Kirk had been just as swift as others in his life to condemn. To demand he change and meet **his** behavioral needs.

No different, then. Jim was no different. Except that as a Starfleet Officer, Spock knew he did have a duty to fulfill, one he had freely chosen to take on. And if that duty was best accommodated by being particularly Vulcan, or human, then it was his duty to manage that.

But in his present state of mind, sitting on his bed, rubbing scarred temples with hands whose wrists still bore the ugly circular marks of restraints, Spock's assessment was that perhaps the fit he had thought worked so well for him, as a Vulcan/human hybrid in Starfleet, had not really worked all that well. Perhaps it was past time to acknowledge that.

At least, what he had come to realize was that he had severely worn out his ability to 'pass' among his colleagues, parents and even friends. He did not fit on the Enterprise or in Starfleet as well has he had thought.

And he did not really see how he fit here. While it was something to have reconciled at least in part with Sarek, the reconciliation was based on no real understanding or change in principles. It was emotionally based. And he was Vulcan enough that he neither trusted it nor expected that to last. And while on the surface, he had patched up relations with his mother, he would never forget the devastating threat she had delivered to him, even as his father lay dying. He might excuse it, but in some respects, he could never entirely forgive.

As for McCoy, he could not bear the thought of more attacks on his Vulcan nature, when it was the cornerstone of whatever fragile hold he had on his existence. And however McCoy intended them, or however he was forgoing them at this time, there had been dark words said about that in the past, words meant to wound.

As for Jim, whom if he could be said to love anyone as a friend, or a brother, Jim had been that to him as no one else ever had been. He had excused, over looked Jim's rare intolerances in the past, for the greater friend he had proven to be. But Jim's thoughts of last night had cut him to the quick, a wound that struck at the heart of the bond of understanding he thought they had. A blow so raw and painful, on an already battered spirit, that he was not sure he could bear dealing with him now in any way. He knew what to expect. Jim no doubt would apologize. He would be expected to accept. In fact, he did accept it. He loved Jim no less for his inadvertent thought. But that didn't change that he felt as if a secure ground had been whipped from under his feet, and he had no comfort at present in trusting it again.

Never in his life had he been more confused or at a loss.

For days, Jim's first thought, spoken or unspoken had been an unvarying desire to go **home**. To the Enterprise. Spock wanted to go home too, if that meant rest, a surcease from pain. But at present, he could not think of what home could be.

But at the moment, the physical claimed him. He needed water.

He rose with no little difficulty, holding onto the headboard. Walking into his bath, he gulped handfuls of water straight from the tap. Then looking down at his sandy, dirty clothes, and still feeling dehydrated, he opted for a rare water shower rather than his usual sonics.

He felt marginally better under the rushing water. It was a true measure of his dual nature, he thought, ducking his head and closing his eyes against the needle spray, feeling it soaking his hair, running cleanly from his spare limbs, that he would engage in such an unVulcan use of water. He was sure his father never did this. But his mother was right. It somewhat eased the desiccated sensation that Vulcan's lack of humidity could afford. And which his night on the Forge had left him with.

He shrugged into a robe and towel dried his hair. Looking through his sparse clothing he changed into a faded science academy exercise clothes that at least had the advantage of not falling off him. And then he stood undecided in the center of the room. Between hunger and weariness, he typically chose to ignore the hunger. The long flight of stairs down to the kitchen seemed farther now than his trip up the mountain had seemed last night. And he was suddenly so tired he could hardly make it back to bed. This time though he managed to strip the coverlet from his bed first and toss it on the nearby chair. Fortunately it had protected the bedclothes beneath it from sand and dirt. He slid between the sheets, grateful home provided this much respite. Sleep dragged him into unconsciousness so swiftly he barely had time to turn his head on the pillow before darkness claimed him.

But not for long. Not for ever. Reality intruded.

He swam up through a dark sea of nightmares and monsters, through treacherous reefs, dangerous shoals. Stopping short of the shore, he half paddled, he half floated, struggling to keep his head above water. Swimming was hard for all Vulcans. Having a denser bone structure than humans, they never floated easily. That he was swimming at all, even in dreamscape, was a signal of danger in itself. He surveyed reality warily.

Amanda put the tray down. "You never came down to breakfast. So I thought it was past time I brought something up for you. Your Starfleet friends are having a powwow, and your father had to take some calls. But you know I always take the morning off after a party to wrap things up. So I'm free." She turned to him. "Are you all right? You've slept very late." She reached out and before he could react, she brushed his bangs back from his eyes, her fingers running through his hair, to brush his forehead lightly. She frowned. "You don't feel like you have a fever."

"Don't," he said.

Amanda made a face. "I don't know what to do with you, Spock. You can be so difficult." She moved the coverlet off the chair, and sat down across from him, sighing. "But I do love you anyway."

_"'She loved me for the dangers I had passed,'" _he told her solemnly._ "'And I loved her that she did pity them.'"_

Amanda blinked at that bizarre reply and frowned at him. "You're not making any sense. I think you **must** have a fever." She reached again for his forehead.

He shrunk back. "No."

Amanda drew back, frowning in vexation. "I could rout out your doctor, and he can run a med scanner over you. Which I imagine you'd like even less. But I suppose if you are feeling well enough to give me your usual Vulcan attitude, then you're not at death's door and it can wait until he shows up. Still, I'm sure you'll feel better if you eat some breakfast. So how about sitting up and trying that?"

Spock looked at the tray on the table with sloe black eyes, mesmerized by it, as if it were some arcane, unreachable object, and didn't make a move.

"And I don't love you any more for all the risks you take in Starfleet," Amanda continued, reaching down for the coverlet. "I try to accept it, but I can't help thinking you have better things set for your life than to fight monsters in a paper boat. And while I am concerned when you get hurt, I am not quite sure I pity you, since you set yourself up for it against your parents' wishes. But I **am** impressed at your quoting Othello. It was never a play I cared to read, much less remember well enough to quote." Her eyes widened as she took in the condition of the coverlet she was absently folding. "What did you **do** to this?"

Spock crashed back to reality with a vengeance, turning his gaze back to Amanda. "I fell asleep on top of it."

"What, after you rolled in a sandpit?" she said, looking at it in disbelief. "Do you know how many millennia old this thing is?"

He lowered his head, regarding her darkly from under beetled brows. "I was remiss."

She shook her head. "Honestly, Spock. It was never **my** idea to live in a castle surrounded by all these artifacts, you know. That's your father's culture. But we are supposed to be **careful** of them. We have enough conservation work piled up from normal wear and tear, much less add to it by abuse. This is supposed to sit on your son's bed someday, remember. And his son's. And so on, for a few more millennia, according to all those traditions you and your father swear by."

"I'm sure it can be repaired."

Amanda looked over some of the broken strands of embroidery. "I'll take it to T'Enga. I think she has some spools of metallic fiber from this period, though we try and conserve them as much as possible. I can probably re-embroider the snarled threads. And I suppose the rest of it," she spread out the coverlet and regarded it critically, "is just dirt. We'll try a very low power vacuum on it after I tack down the loose threads and then I'll work on re-embroidering it." She turned back to look at Spock. "You're not eating. You're never going to get well, if you don't eat."

Spock looked back at the tray, blinking a few times. "Is it real? Are you?"

Amanda's did a double-take from the coverlet to her son and her mouth dropped open. "What?" She reached out inadvertently. "Oh, **honey**,"

Spock flinched back. "No."

Amanda curled her fingers into fists and sat down, letting out a soft half-breath of impatience, but not pushing. "Of course, it's real. And I'm real. And that blanket you rolled on like a muddy sehlat is real, too." She picked up the tray and moved it over to the bed, plunking it down on his lap in spite of his flinching back. "You need to eat and drink something, and you'll feel a lot better. And then maybe take another nap. I think you did too much yesterday. If you're not sick, you're at least over-tired."

Spock stared down at the tray as if it still were a mirage. "They would bring food sometimes. And laugh. Eat it before me. Or grind it into the stones." Spock shivered. "It was always so cold. I was so hungry. And thirsty, too. I thought I wouldn't be, but-"

Amanda had narrowed her eyes, looking at her son's vacant expression. "But it's not cold here," she said carefully. "And no one is taking this away. It's for you to eat." She picked up a glass of orange juice. "Drink this."

He drew back. "I can't. No. It could be drugged."

"It's not drugged." Amanda put the glass down, and tried to catch his wary gaze. "Spock, **listen** to me. You know where you are. You're **home**."

"I dreamed of home."

"This isn't a dream. You **are** home."

"No," Spock shook his head and looked out the view at the distant Llangons. "That's a stone wall."

Amanda let out a breath and half turned. "I'd better get Leonard."

He caught her urgently, fingers curling like steel around her forearm. "Don't **bring** them. There's so few minutes when they leave me alone. Kzar and Kgun - they'll be back soon and-"

It would be impossible for a mere human to break away from a Vulcan's grip. Amanda knew enough from her years on Vulcan not to even try. Casting for what she could do for her son and herself, Amanda picked up the carafe of water from the tray and flung it full into Spock's face.

He sputtered, choking, and then looked at her through dripping bangs. "Mother! What are you doing?"

"Are you back?" she demanded.

"Back from where?" He scrubbed his face with the corner of the sheet.

"I don't even like to say."

"Why did you do that?" he complained.

"Because you were talking nonsense."

"I wasn't."

"You were." She pointed to the windows. "What do you see there?"

He frowned fractionally and looked back at her as if she'd lost her mind. "The Llangons. Of course."

She let out a relieved sigh. "I want you to eat your breakfast."

"I'm wet," he complained.

"**Now**," she ordered. "Don't give me any backchat. You can change after you eat."

He eyed her warily and picked up a utensil.

"What did you do to your hands?" She asked, noticing them for the first time.

He looked from them to her without comment.

She sighed again but didn't push. "Do you have a fever, Spock?" she asked him as she watched him clear his plate and drink the juice, he completely unaware that a few moments ago, he'd feared to her that it had been drugged.

He pushed the empty dish away. "No, but I'm still thirsty."

She brought him a glass of water, filling it at the bathroom tap and watched him drink it. "Take a shower and get into some dry clothes, and I'll change your sheets."

But now that he had eaten, he appeared exhausted. He looked at the bath as if it were miles away. "I'm tired."

"You can't sleep in a wet bed. In your condition, you'll get pneumonia."

"Whose fault is that?" he grumbled, but seeing she was resolute, he rose carefully, as if all his muscles ached, and went into his bath. She remade his bed with dry linens, left the re-filled water carafe on his bed-table, with a glass beside it, and picked up the tray, watching while he made his careful way back to bed.

"What do you see out that window?" she pointed, before he closed his eyes.

"Mother," he said in a long suffering tone, not bothering to turn his head off the pillow.

"All right," she conceded. "I recognize the smart-ass attitude. Hopefully you can-" she stopped because it was perfectly obvious he had dropped off again into sleep.

"Oh, Spock," she sighed softly, and took away the tray.

She checked on him before lunch, but he was once again so deeply asleep he didn't rouse at a presence in his room. She looked at him doubtfully, but at least he was sleeping peacefully, without nightmares. The water level in the carafe was unchanged. He had not woken, at least not to drink

She went down to lunch, routing out Jim and McCoy from the room where they'd been writing the report for the Admiralty on Kirk. They came into the breakfast room still arguing.

Sarek came in the door, glancing at Amanda. "Spock is still asleep?"

Amanda nodded. "I got him to eat something, earlier. Sarek, where **was** he last night?"

Sarek hesitated, reluctant to answer.

"I think I can guess. And there can't be any more all night strolls on the Forge. Not until he's a lot better."

Sarek set his mouth. "I can't do that. He passed his-"

"I don't care about the damn desert survival tests he passed when he was five," she flared. "He's not competent now."

"No," Sarek refused, in no uncertain terms. "His right is inviolate."

"I am so sick of all of you," Amanda said, glaring at everyone around the table. "Vulcan traditions and Starfleet regulations, and it seems to me none of you really care if he gets himself killed. I'm tired of being patted on the head like a sehlat and told, there, _there, don't worry your pretty head about it_. Meanwhile, in the state he's in, he could mistake a lematya **for** a sehlat."

"He would not," Sarek countered.

"Well, this morning he was mistaking his room for a Klingon cell. Talking to me about being starved and tortured and seeing his windows as stone walls. So I don't think mistaking a lemayta for a sehlat is too far outside the realm of possibiliti-"

McCoy turned so abruptly, he knocked over the pitcher of water at his elbow. Sarek caught it out of mid-air before it crashed and shattered, but not before an arc of water sailed out of it, to run over the polished table and down on the stone-flagged floor.

"Everyone is tossing water today," Amanda said, mopping up what flowed toward her.

"He said what?" McCoy asked. "**What**? Amanda, forget the damn water."

Sarek drew up at that criticism of his wife. "Doctor, there is no need to-"

"Damn it, what did he say?" McCoy repeated.

Amanda looked across at him, puzzled by his manner. "It's not something I want to talk about in detail."

"**Tell** me," McCoy insisted.

Amanda let out a sigh. "I brought him breakfast, and he just talked a bit about -" she looked at Sarek. "I don't understand why anyone needs to hear this. Starfleet knows it all already. Don't you?" she asked McCoy.

"What did he **say**?" McCoy demanded, pounding the table with three loud blows.

Amanda sat down abruptly. "He talked about what happened in his captivity. The Klingons. How he was starved - I don't see why you need to hear this. I don't like talking about it."

"He mentioned the Klingons?"

"A few of them. I'd rather not say **those** names-"

McCoy's eyes bugged. "He mentioned them by **name**?"

Amanda drew back, now a little frightened by his intensity. She looked at Sarek, this time as if for rescue.

And frowning, Sarek responded. "That is quite enough, Doctor. You may be able to interrogate my son, in some capacity as his medical officer. But not my wife."

"No, Sarek," Amanda had caught hold of herself. "Doctor, what is this about? What does it matter what Spock said to me?"

McCoy bit his lip. "I can't say. I promised your son. But it's important."

"What can't you-" Sarek then paused, head raised as if listening.

Whatever he heard was too faint for human ears, but it must have been a footfall on the stairs, for after a moment, Spock appeared in the breakfast room. He sank down at the table as if it had been an effort to stand up that long. "I heard your raised voices," he said, "from upstairs. And pounding. You woke me."

"You look terrible," Amanda said. She poured him some juice. "Drink that."

Spock looked at it a moment, leaving Amanda half wondering if they were going to have an argument again. But then he took a deep breath and picked up the glass and drank. "Thank you," he said to her.

"At least you don't suspect me of drugging it," Amanda said.

"If McCoy had procured it, I might."

"Well, **he** seems well enough," McCoy commented dryly at that too familiar slight.

"What Doctor McCoy is resisting telling you," Spock began slowly "And I commend him for his restraint, he is not generally so circumspect - is that the events of my incarceration in Klingon hands seems to have affected my memory. My recollections of my captivity and in part that of my life in Starfleet is flawed." He looked around the table, setting on Sarek and Amanda with a half defiant air. "Quite flawed."

Sarek drew back from Spock's obvious resentment, keeping his expression and voice neutral. "But earlier this morning, you told your mother something of what happened in Klingon hands."

Spock drew a breath. He put his elbows on the table, and rubbed his forehead with one hand. "Did I?"

"You did," she said.

"I don't remember that," he admitted.

"I don't think you were tracking very well," she answered.

Spock shrugged. "As I said, my memory is obviously flawed."

"What do you remember of this morning, Spock?" McCoy asked.

Spock grimaced slightly and sank back in his chair. "Must I? What does it matter?"

"Just try," McCoy said.

Spock sighed softly, rubbing his wrists. "She came in with a tray. She woke me up. She chastised me for ruining the coverlet."

"I **remarked** on it," Amanda said, marginally offended. "I wasn't pleased. But I certainly didn't **chastise** you."

"I felt it," Spock said. "It hurt. It hurts now." He looked at them through narrowed eyes, fingers moving to his temples again. "All of you...are too much. Leave me **alone**."

"Everybody back off a bit," McCoy said. "I suppose we all are pounding on him." It was true everyone had leaned forward, to hear what he had to say. As one, they sat back in their chairs, Sarek who had yet to sit down straightening his posture. McCoy reached out and put a cup of tea before Spock. "Is that better? Try a little tea, the caffeine might help."

Spock stared at the cup as if wondering what it was, or how it had gotten there.

"Spock?" McCoy tried again.

Spock looked up at the Doctor, frowning slightly. "What?"

"Are you feeling better?"

Spock looked around the table at all the expectant eyes, and then closed his. "No," he said faintly.

"Spock," McCoy began, but the First Officer sat back and his arm began to move as if to brush away the tea cup and everything else in range on the table, as if pushing all of them away. Before his sleeve even reached the saucer, Sarek had stepped to his side, caught his wrist in one hand and with the other, caught his shoulder. Spock folded in Sarek's catching arms, out like a light from the effects of the nerve pinch.

"I think we have had enough of spilled liquids this morning," Sarek said looking a bit defensively at the rest of the company.

"Don't take him back upstairs," Amanda said. "He'll wake up in a few minutes anyway. Put him on the couch next door."

"He's-" Sarek began.

"He's spent too much time in that room and in that bed. I don't think we want him holing back up there. Or we'll never get him out of there. Or off the Forge, if that's where he's running to in an effort to get away from us. Take him next door, Sarek."

"Very well," Sarek said.

Most of the time the family seemed to gather for meals and separate for work, and take most of their recreation out in the gardens. So the room Sarek carried Spock into was one they'd seldom had occasion to use. It had wide windows that looked out on the gardens and comfortable seating. Sarek lowered Spock on a couch and regarded him. "He's not injured."

"He's survived Klingon hands, he's not going to melt," Amanda said. When Kirk looked at her a bit astonished, she shrugged. "I think it's time we stopped **tiptoeing** around all this. And Sarek doesn't need to feel guilty - Spock was about to lose it. He scared **me** a little this morning."

"He what?" Sarek asked, focusing abruptly on her.

"He thought I was going to bring the Klingons back in. He just caught my arm. But I knew better than to try to break free."

"What'd you do?" McCoy asked, eyes widening, imagining that scenario.

"I threw a pitcher of water in his face and then he came around."

"I guess we all need to keep a squirt gun handy," McCoy commented, laughing lightly in spite of the situation.

"Perhaps I should have taken that step," Sarek commented ironically. "But water is not something Vulcans tend to waste."

Amanda half laughed in turn. "No. And better a quick nerve pinch than a more serious altercation." She turned serious. "I'd just like to know what **happened** last night. Because I think I'm being kept in the dark. And the last time I saw him, before the party ended, he was doing fine."

"As you must now surmise, Spock spent the night hiking the Forge," Sarek said quickly. "And among other things had an altercation with a lematya. He didn't return home until dawn. That's partly why he's so exhausted this morning.

"So that's what woke you," she said to Sarek. She looked at her husband narrowly. "Somehow I wonder if that's all of it." But at least for the moment, she let it go, sighing in vexation, frowning at her son. "He fought a lematya. In his condition. Of all the stupid, reckless-"

"Amanda," Sarek warned.

"You know I **hate** those nighttime desert rambles. Besides your attracting every predator around for miles, it's hardly fair to the poor creatures when you entice them into thinking you are easy prey and then get the better of them. And there's always the chance you **will** miss-step and end up dead. Is it really **logical** to take those risks?"

"It is our way to meditate on the desert when one is ...distressed."

"You don't want to know what I think of the Vulcan way at this time," Amanda said and then shrugged. "But what distressed him? Did one of the guests say something?" She looked around and met Jim's eyes. "He was with you, wasn't he?"

"I didn't **say** anything," Kirk said defensively, but then his conscience prodded him to add, "But I suppose at one point he took me amiss."

Amanda sighed. "So he goes haring off into the desert to serve as lematya bait. If he wasn't more than two decades past it and it wasn't one of your cherished Vulcan practices to hike the desert at night, and beyond my purview, I'd spank him for risking his neck, scaring everyone half to death and hurting himself further."

"What, you're not mad at me?" Kirk asked her, torn between amusement and irritation.

She eyed him and shrugged. "Should I be?" When Kirk hesitated on answering, she sighed. "I don't know what went on, but I can hardly blame you for getting frustrated with Vulcan ways, if that's what it was, when I have had my share of that."

"It wasn't just that," Kirk began. But then Spock stirred, and moaned.

And again as one, they all turned toward him.

_To be continued..._


	38. Chapter 38

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 38**

Spock moaned and stirred, one hand going to his shoulder where Sarek had neck pinched him. Blinking, he opened his eyes. He looked at all the faces staring at him. "What did I do?" he asked.

"I may have been precipitous. But I thought you were going to react ...emotionally," Sarek offered.

Spock raised a brow at that. "Regardless, it seems to have been a drastic method of curtailment for such a fault," he replied.

"You were going to fling your teacup across the room," McCoy said helpfully.

"Indeed? I have no recollection of that. But my assessment stands," Spock replied. He sat up slowly. "I suppose the cup was as valuable as the blanket," he added dryly.

Amanda and Sarek traded glances with each other and Amanda gave a very human sigh.

"Are you all right?" Kirk asked. "I know what waking up from one of those feels like." He shifted a shoulder in sympathy.

Spock looked at Jim and then looked away.

"Spock - I'm-"

"You did nothing wrong, Captain," Spock said, still not meeting Jim's eyes. "It was I who was at fault for violating your privacy."

His stiff tone, the use of the title, rather than the name that he had fallen more into use over the last few days, said volumes.

"Spock," Sarek said, breaking into this personal exchange. "Perhaps it is time to bring Sivash back to assess you. And if it is deemed warranted, assist you with another healing trance."

Spock looked at Sarek, and then from him to Amanda, McCoy and then Kirk. "Why?"

"His recommendations alone might prove of some benefit," Sarek suggested.

Spock lowered his gaze, absently fingering the throw covering him. "I don't care to be poked and prodded," he said in an undertone, as if to himself. He had withdrawn, disengaged from those around him.

"You said you were going to **try**, Spock," Kirk reminded him.

Spock flinched at the wave of determination that seemed to emanate from Kirk. Even Sarek withdrew a pace.

"Captain," Sarek warned. "Perhaps it is part of your command ability to gather everyone around you and bludgeon them with the sheer force of your will. And were it only verbal, I would have nothing to say. But it is inappropriate to use that tactic against a sensitive telepath, and particularly one in Spock's condition. I must ask you to cease."

Kirk looked up at Sarek. "I'm not **doing** anything."

Sarek looked at Amanda as if in frustration.

She shrugged at him in turn. "I'm practically psi-null by Vulcan standards. But even I can feel it. If Spock's been dealing with **that** for three years every time that Jim wants something, I'm surprised he has any shields left. Klingons aside."

"I'm not-" Kirk said.

McCoy looked from Kirk to Spock's parents, brows rising. "You're suggesting part of a successful command persona is the ability to ...persuade... in a level that extends into the psionic band?"

"Hardly just command," Amanda said, sitting down across from her son. "You've never seen a charismatic politician whip up a crowd? A good one can induce a certain state in those around them. Like hive communications. It works even in relatively psi-null humans. I wrote a paper on that when Spock was just seven," she mused. "Won an award for it too.1"

"When you were a Nobel loser," Spock answered, looking at her from the corners of his eyes. "Until your competitor was discovered to have cheated."

"That's right," she said, with a faint smile for him, before turning serious again, looking at Kirk. "I never thought thirty years later I'd see such a perfect **human** example of it sitting right in front of me. Using it against my son. Add command hierarchy and friendship and a certain amount of shared values and I imagine it's quite hard to resist. Much more than just a honeyed tongue. You **are** dangerous, Jim Kirk," she told him. "Photon torpedoes aside."

"Or exceptionally gifted," McCoy returned in defense of his Captain. "It's as valid for inciting to peace as to war."

"He's not that influential of me," Spock muttered.

"Maybe true," Amanda told her son, "but I think our Jim has those hive warriors licked. And in normal circumstances, given you are stubborn enough to stand up to T'Pau and your father, I'm sure you are a match for Jim, even at his worst. Or best. But since your shields are wrecked, he needs to lay off you right now. Until you're feeling better. When the playing field is more level, then **he** can go back to enticing you off to battle monsters against your father's wishes, and **you** can go back to hijacking his starship when he won't take it where you want."

"I only did that twice," Spock defended himself. "Well, perhaps three times," he frowned, shaking his head as if trying to clear his muddled memory.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kirk said, frowning at them. "Hive mentalities."

"What do they teach kids in school these days?" Amanda complained to Sarek. "I know my work can at times be a little obscure," she added, "And Starfleet is not the Vulcan Science Academy. But given that theory's directly conflict related, you'd think they'd cover it in their coursework somewhere."

"It **was** a cross reference in some extra-curricular reading materials in a Command Training seminar," Spock said helpfully. "But it was somewhat above, or perhaps outside, the scope of the class' interests."

"I can't say I think much of the education they gave you, honey," she said, shaking her head at her son, who lowered his head, this time perhaps to hide a betraying curve that threatened the corner of his mouth. "What, they stopped with _set phasers on stun_?"

McCoy choked at that.

"I could give you the reference," she added to Kirk.

"Hey," Kirk complained, confused but marginally offended at this slur against his alma mater. But then caught himself before taking it further. "I don't see what this has to do with Spock," Kirk said, returning to the matter at hand.

"I confess I never really considered Jim in that way," Spock said, giving his Captain an evaluative gaze. "It could explain much."

"At least I'm _Jim_ again to you," Kirk said. "But I still don't see-"

"I think she means you're pushing," McCoy translated, helpful in turn. "Remember, you and I have had some talks about that."

"No. The party's **over**. It's time to **work**," Kirk said, and turned to Spock. "And you said you were going to **try**. This healer thing is the first step. A deep healing trance-"

Spock shuddered at that. "I can't do that."

"I think a reassessment is all we are discussing at this time," Sarek amended, giving Kirk a reproving glance. "And it can be an entirely psi-null session. Sivesh need not engage your shields."

Spock had looked progressively more stubborn as Kirk and Sarek spoke. "Is this an order?" Spock suddenly flared, looking between his father and his Captain.

Sarek raised a brow at that. "Not at all."

"Yes," Kirk said.

"**Jim**," McCoy warned.

Everyone turned to Kirk.

"You have to try, Spock," Kirk said. "You know that you do. Do you want to stay here and vegetate? I **know** you can do it."

Spock lowered his head, shoulders dropping as if he were curling in on himself. Or perhaps just battening himself against Kirk's full shield assault.

"Captain," Sarek warned.

Spock sighed softly. "I suppose it is inevitable. And unavoidable," he added.

"Certainly based on what **Jim** wants," Amanda said ironically. She frowned at the Captain. "I am more grateful to you than I can say, Jim, for all you have done for my son. And my husband. But just at the moment, you are wearing my patience a little **thin**. Back off."

"If he had said _no_," Kirk began.

"I have agreed to see Sivesh," Spock interrupted this _contretemps_. He eyed Kirk. "More than that I cannot promise."

Sarek looked over his son doubtfully. "Perhaps tomorrow."

"Why not now?" Kirk asked.

Even Sarek drew a sharp breath at that and Vulcan or not, gave Kirk a glare that momentarily arrested the Starfleet Captain.

"Probably best not to leave it hanging over him too long," McCoy shrugged. "Given he hates any medical attention."

"It doesn't matter to me," Spock muttered. He looked up to fractionally catch his father's eye and nod resignedly.

"Then I will call Sivesh and see when his schedule is free," Sarek said, still looking doubtfully at Spock.

Amanda snorted at that. "Like he won't rearrange his schedule for Spock, for anything that isn't life threatening." She looked at Sarek's half narrowed gaze. "You might as well get him out here this afternoon, Sarek. I agree on that much. Spock won't be any easier with the thought of it hanging over him."

"Very well," Sarek said. "I will arrange for it. For late this afternoon, after Spock has had a chance to eat lunch and then rest." He looked at his son. "Hunger and other stresses only increase your psi sensitivity. You will handle the encounter better after a meal and a chance to order your shields from this," he eyed Kirk, "assault."

"I didn't know that about Vulcan psi skills," McCoy said, turning to Sarek.

"It has been postulated that for Vulcans, psi was something of a survival mechanism. The more sensitive telepaths find their psi skills increase further with stress. Hunger, thirst, cold."

Spock drew up at that, as if in memory.

"Damn," McCoy said, looking at Spock, thinking of the Klingon interrogation materials he'd been going through. "I wonder if they operated on that knowledge, or if they were just being, well, Klingon in their methods."

"Vulcans tend not to speak of it without cause," Sarek said, "But it is well known among Romulans, who are occasional allies of the Klingons." He glanced from Amanda to Kirk with a significant look, as if warning her to mediate between them, before leaving the room.

"I think," Amanda said. "I will have T'Jar bring you some lunch, Spock.

But she did better than that and brought in reinforcements. When the lunch trays exited, the sehlats came charging into the room behind Amanda and made directly for Spock.

"Down, Hairy," Amanda said, sitting down with Spock's coverlet and a box of repair materials. The sehlat swerved from Spock to jump in her lap, momentarily burying her under a cloud of sehlat fur and muscle. "I don't need you to make the damage to this worse," she told the animal, holding the coverlet out of its way.

"His name is Harry?" Kirk asked bemused.

"I-Charyn," Spock corrected.

"Considering the quantities of hair he sheds everywhere, it's more than appropriate," Amanda said, shoving him off her. "Down, sir. If you misbehave again, out you go."

"What's the girl's name," McCoy asked, grinning goofily at the sight of the huge creatures that never failed to tickle him. "T' something?"

Amanda glanced at her son with a wicked smile. "It took us a while to name her. But then we settled on Angel May."

"Angel May?" McCoy said incredulously, then recovered. "I take it **you** were responsible for that."

Amanda set her mouth against her smile and shook her head. Then pointed a finger at Spock.

McCoy turned to Spock in disbelief. "**You** named your pet Angel May?"

"She was such a girl," Spock said, flicking a brow. The girl in question had avoided Amanda's wrath by more sedately climbing up onto the couch next to Spock and had laid her big head on his knees. He patted her ruff.

Amanda laughed. "He was reading Harper _Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird_. You know the scene, where Jem and Dill are going to peek in the Radley window, and Scout is trying to hold them back. "And then Jem says-"

"_You don't have to come along, Angel May_. _I swear you get more like a girl every day_," Spock finished for her. "It fit her personality" he gave the giant head he was petting a slightly aggrieved look as if in memory, "**precisely**." The creature on his lap whined and looked into his eyes plaintively.

"She was just doing her job," Amanda defended. "Far better than this walking rug." She tugged at I'Charyn's ruff and he half roared in defiance. "Spock and Hairy were always heading off to the Forge into who knew what dangerous pursuits," Amanda said. "And May kept saying 'please don't, please don't.'"

"She never talked," Spock said.

"She didn't need to," Amanda countered. "Whenever I saw her running back and forth from desert to gardens I knew **something** was going on at the other end that probably shouldn't have been." She looked fondly at her son. But then suddenly lost her smile and turned away. "It took me a while to accept it. But sehlats **are** perfect babysitters. And May did her job well," she said in a slightly rougher voice, petting Hairy, who had settled down at her feet. "as long as she could."

"She was an informer," Spock pronounced. "Yes," he told May when she whined again at that. "And I was long past the age where I required a sehlat to monitor my activities," he added.

"Oh, I don't know, were you?" Amanda asked, half teasing. "I think you could use one still. If you take anything back to that starship of yours, it shouldn't be a flyer, it should be a couple of sehlats. Maybe they'd keep you and Jim out of trouble. At least May would, given half a chance. Hairy," she prodded him lightly with her toe, and he caught her foot in his huge jaws, pretending to crush it. "would head right for it. Ouch, ouch, Hairy. Leave it." The sehlat dropped her foot, and laved it with his tongue. "No," she said. "I don't want a bitten or a slobbered foot."

"They wouldn't fit in the turbolifts," Kirk said measuring the beasts with his eyes.

"What did Sarek have to say about that name?" McCoy asked, diverting the conversation from that dangerous subject.

"Vulcans are clan oriented, even when it comes to sehlats," Amanda said absently, threading her needle. "So, they have fancy pedigree names. He ignored it."

Spock looked at his mother at that, and then down at the huge head he was petting. "Indeed," he murmured, so quietly everyone missed it.

They settled for a while, waiting for Sivesh. Spock half dozed as Sarek had ordered. McCoy got a comm-pad and tapped away on his reports. Kirk worked for a while but grew too frustrated, or too restless. He rummaged in the room's shelves, laden with antique paper books for something interesting, carrying a stack back to his side. The sehlats filled the room with gusty soporific snores.

Things were quiet for a while, until Amanda looked up from her needlework and lit on the book in Jim Kirk's hands. "You're reading Aubrey/Maturin?"

"Rereading them," Kirk qualified.

"Jim reads everything," McCoy said, looking up from his reports. "At the Academy, allegedly you could hardly see him for the stack of books he was always hidden behind.

"I was grim," Kirk conceded. "But literate. Reasonably well informed anyway," he added with a frown for Amanda's hive warrior paper.

"Well," Amanda said with a gleam in her eye, "since I have a genuine, certified, twenty-four carat gold Starship Captain in front of me-"

Kirk smiled but his eyes had a grim look. McCoy knew that while at times he enjoyed the benefits of rank, it irritated him to be judged by it.

"You have to give me your take on the question that's been clogging up the message boards of sea saga aficionados for the last three centuries."

"And what's that?" Kirk asked, eyes narrowed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Why, if Aubrey and Hornblower were faced off against each other in an action, starting with equal resources, who would win?"

"Hornblower," Spock spoke up suddenly, startling everyone who had almost forgotten him, thinking him asleep.

"Aubrey," Kirk said, in almost the same instant. He stared hard at Spock, who looked back, equally evaluating.

"I almost could have predicted you'd each say that," Amanda said, a little disappointed.

"Hornblower," Spock muttered softly.

"Who do you like?" Kirk said, turning the tables on her. "**Aubrey**," he muttered back, sotto voce to Spock.

"I can't evaluate them as military commanders."

"What about all that hive warrior stuff?" Kirk challenged.

"Hey, my work is **entirely** theoretical," Amanda returned. "Don't ask me to predict odds in a sea battle, however fictitious. As characters, Hornblower was a favorite of my youth. I think the Aubrey Maturin series is a bit more complex, thematically. But I'm not competent to evaluate their seamanship or battle capabilities. The only thing I've ever sailed with a mast was a Blue Jay. Not exactly a man of war. Though I've read Lord Cochrane, and Nelson and naturally Joseph Banks. He was fascinating."

"Who's he?" Kirk asked.

"The English naturalist. The inspiration for Stephen Maturin. He sailed with Captain Cook on the _Endeavor_ to Brazil, Cook's first great voyage." Amanda said with a wondering, _I thought everyone knew that_ tone.

"Can she be human?" Kirk asked McCoy, furrowing his brow.

"You poor kid," McCoy said, turning to Spock. "You really did inherit it from both sides, didn't you? Never even had half a chance to be normal."

Spock just gave McCoy a chary look, and turned away.

Amanda was flipping absently through one of Kirk's books, not put off by the teasing, brow furrowed. "Given you prefer Aubrey, I take it you don't subscribe to the notion that Aubrey might be, well, just a little shy? Of battle, I mean."

"**Shy**?" Kirk barked, in a barely restrained version of a command snap. He got hold of himself and said, "Who says he's shy?" in an attempt at a normal tone.

"Well," Amanda said, looking a bit taken aback. "It's not that I don't like Aubrey as a character. Still, there's a considered opinion that he tends to wait to engage until he has if not overwhelming odds, then good ones. While Hornblower-"

"That's **nonsense**," Kirk said.

"No. It is a somewhat popular opinion," Spock said. "And Hornblower is a scientific commander. I do believe he is more skilled."

"God spare us all," McCoy groaned putting up his arms as if to shield himself. "Here it comes. And we none of us have shields."

"I've got nothing against H.H.," Kirk said, "but I can show you plenty of examples, where Aubrey outfought **and** out thought-"

"Name one," Spock said coolly.

"I think I started something I shouldn't have," Amanda said.

"I think it's great," McCoy said. "They'll argue happily for hours about this."

But Amanda was watching her son, her face suddenly quiet and serious. Spock had picked up one of the series books - Jim had brought over a good number of the 21 volumes - and he was idly flipping through the pages as if to show Jim his example. But after a few moments, he closed the book and set it down.

"Would you like **me** to read to you, Spock?" Amanda asked quietly, in so soft an undertone that McCoy had to strain to hear, and Kirk, apparently looking for an example in one of his books, didn't notice.

"No, thank you," Spock answered.

"How about some music then?" Amanda suggested. She picked up a remote control. What looked like a tapestry on the far wall faded and became a screen. Flipping through some offerings, she settled on an orchestra playing what sounded like Bach, except that it was a Vulcan orchestra and the instruments were not the usual human ones. She turned up the volume to a soft background level and handed the control to Spock. "Excuse me for a moment."

Kirk looked up at the sound of the music and blinked. "I didn't know that was a **screen**," he said. He reached over to automatically take the remote from his first officer's hands. Spock shrugged at this inevitability and handed it over like a good host.

"I'll return in a moment," Amanda said. Neither Spock nor Kirk looked up at her or noticed the odd tone in her voice. But McCoy recognized signs of distress and followed her. He found her just outside the room, her back against the stone wall of the corridor, hands to her face, shoulders shaking.

"Hey," McCoy said. "You've been holding up amazingly well through all this so far. What gives?"

Amanda brought her hands down from her wet face. "You haven't **noticed**?"

McCoy frowned. "Noticed what?"

"You haven't," she choked. "I don't even think Sarek has realized it. And I haven't wanted to tell him. But I thought all of you were so **close**."

"**What**?" McCoy asked, mystified.

"What does Spock do when he has five minutes to spare, anytime, anywhere?" she asked him. "When he sits down anywhere near a computer console. Or failing that, if there's a netpad or a library around. What does he do? And what **hasn't** he done since he got home?"

McCoy's eyes widened.

"What things has he never been able to resist, since the age of two? The first has always been an equal sign, bisecting some equation. But the second is the printed word. On a screen, or a netbook, or a printed page. He accesses the library computer, or a book, electronic or paper, where-ever he is. And he **reads**. Constantly. Continuously. He'll read a dictionary or an encyclopedia, if there's nothing better around. I've sat with him a lot since he's been home. Watched him. I haven't seen him read since he's gotten here. Oh, he's tried a little. But within a minute or two, he closes the book , or turns off the netpad, or closes the computer. Like he just did."

"You're right," McCoy said. "I hadn't noticed."

"I thought at first it was because he was exhausted. Still recovering. But even then - I mean Spock's read himself to sleep since he was three. No one is more tired than a Vulcan three-year old at the end of a long day of mischief, but he read then. When he had raging fevers as a child and could hardly focus on a page for five minutes, he would still try to read. He **always** reads. But now," she shook her head. "Oh, he tries. But within five minutes, he just gives up." She pushed her heavy braid off her shoulder. "I tried to tell myself I was mistaken."

"I'll test him."

"Oh, I think he **can** read," Amanda said. "I've tested him that much, surreptitiously to be sure. I think either his concentration is shattered and he just can't track for longer than a few minutes on one subject. Or-"

"Maybe, with what he's dealing with, nothing on a printed page seems too relevant."

Amanda nodded. "Could be." She wiped her face again. "I know it's ...silly. So minor. I mean, I'm grateful that he's back at all. Alive. Recovering. But It was always been such a part of who he **was**. **Is**. And it was always such a bond between us. I have no interest in computers or physics. I'm not Vulcan, so all those Vulcan disciplines that consume him, and were so important to Sarek are just... tiresome to me. But at least we had this one trait in common. Something of **me**, because it's not really a Vulcan habit in spite of what you might think - Sarek - Vulcans - don't read for recreation. Certainly not Terran fiction, at least not compulsively as Spock always has. Even though Sarek has always disapproved. And now, I've lost that part of him too."

"Maybe not forever," McCoy said, grappling with this new problem. "But you hang in here," he said to her. "We can't have anyone else losing it. We need you."

Amanda took a ragged breath. "I'm all right. At least he still seems able to focus on music. He played several songs at the party. He sang. Without a hitch or a blank look. And without fading in a minute or two as he has lately when confronted with the printed page. Maybe it's because music is a right brain thing, rather than a left brain. And his unwillingness to read is some residual effect of the mindsifter."

"I hadn't **noticed**," McCoy said, shaking his head in recrimination.

"He hasn't been **talking** much either, but that's not that unusual for him. But music is good," Amanda said, as if she were grasping at straws. "Even if that's all he has, he's always loved that too. And it stimulates the brain. Maybe, eventually, he'll get his reading back." She shook herself, and scrubbed a last time at her face with a sleeve. "I've got to get back there. How do I look?" She faced McCoy. "I don't look like I've been crying, do I?"

"What the hell does that matter?" McCoy growled. "We've all been crying a little. Except maybe for Sarek. I know Jim and I have."

"No. I don't want to burden him," she looked at McCoy with her careful, practiced, diplomat's smile now fixed in place. "As you say, things are bad enough." And then she straightened her shoulders and went back in.

And McCoy found he was the one flattening himself against the stone corridor wall, as if hoping it would hold him up. "Good god, what **else** is there?" he asked to no one in particular. "I'm **more** than ready for the Vulcan cavalry to come over the hill."

_to be continued..._

1 See _Small Talk_


	39. Chapter 39

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 39**

"Sivesh and the healers will be here within the hour," Sarek said, when he returned back to the Fortress.

"I suppose we should have some tea before he arrives," Amanda said, putting aside her needlework.

"Not for me, thanks," Kirk said, when Spock had been served. "Bones, let's get some fresh air before they arrive," he suggested, with a jerk of his head toward the door.

Spock looked at them, his eyes narrowed, but he made no comment.

"I guess we could give Spock some time with his parents," McCoy allowed, not missing Kirk's significant gaze. He let Kirk steer him down the hall and out the garden court door, but balked when he gathered Kirk's true intention. "I'm not going out there," McCoy said, catching Kirk's arm, seeing that he was headed not for the terraformed gardens, but for the outside gates.

"Well, I'm not talking in here," Kirk said. "Probably being they're Vulcans, the gardens aren't bugged. But I still sometimes feel like I can't draw a free breath in here. Force screens and security and-"

"You've lived under Fleet security half your life," McCoy said, unimpressed.

"Yeah, but it was my choice," Kirk said.

"You remember what Sarek said when we first got here." McCoy dug in his heels. "All kinds of monsters and you-know-what wait outside these gates. No, thank you, sir."

"We'll be fine." Kirk turned impatiently coming up to the guardhouse. The guards monitoring the security systems came out and gave Kirk and McCoy a curious audience. "Come **on**, Bones."

"You may be fine. I'm not built for doing battle with wildlife bare-handed. And you haven't even got a weapon. No, Jim."

The guards looked between each other. Then one tossed Kirk a stun phaser. "Here, sir. Protection for the healer who cannot defend himself by skill alone." His tone was carefully non-disparaging, but his look toward the physician was clearly pitying.

Kirk caught it out of the air, and checking the weapon absently, clipped it to his side. "Thanks. See, Bones? We're all set."

"Damn macho Vulcans," McCoy said, not caring that the Vulcan in question was before him. "Five thousand years of peace and they still have to fight animals bare handed. Well I'm a surgeon, sir," he announced to both Kirk and the guards. "I spent years training my hands to heal, not fight. And I need them to stay functional."

"Come **on**, Bones."

"I hate this," McCoy groused as he closed the gate behind him. "There better not be any monsters waiting for us, Jim."

"We won't go that far from the house. Damn, Bones, we go on new planetfalls with less fuss."

"With an armed security team. And we know there are monsters here.

"They're not so bad."

"And it's hotter out here," McCoy said, tugging at his collar.

"I've noticed that too," Kirk said. "I think the all the fountains add humidity and drop the temperature, and the force screens tend to hold it inside," he added, pacing alongside the high wall that protected the gardens from the Forge. "We won't go far, Bones. Not even up the trail all that much. Sometimes, I just have to get out of that house." He gave a gusty sigh of relief, looking back at it. "It starts to feel like a prison."

"Maybe you need to leave for a bit," McCoy said.

"Neither one of us needs to leave." Kirk set his jaw. "So let's have it out. I know you are just doing your job as you see it, Bones. But I am tired of being the only one around on Spock's team. For once you could be on my side. **Spock's** side."

"Jim, nobody has a side here," McCoy said tiredly as he trudged along the path hugging the garden wall. "Lord, this gravity is wearing."

"Sure you do. That's the kind of talk that does Spock harm. Hell, between you and your colleagues, and his parents, I'm outnumbered. Only me, and his friends, and the damn guards, see Spock for who he really is. But none of them count. I'm the only one here who has any influence. And while it's been damn discouraging, it's not a battle I plan to lose. For Spock's sake, I can't. But I sure could use an ally and not an opponent."

"You think I'm not on Spock's side?" McCoy asked, his eyes narrowed. He eyed the switchback trail through the foothills up the mountain. "You can't think to climb that?"

"There's a little place, a ways up, that gives a nice view."

"This is a nice view right here," McCoy said, pointing out across the desert plains to the city of Shikahr in the distance. "We're up high enough."

"A better view. Come on, Bones." Kirk brushed past him and McCoy reluctantly kept pace. "You're a doctor," he threw over his shoulder. "He's been hurt. You know that you always turn into a medical tyrant when you have a patient to mother hen. But usually there's always the press of the next mission, the next assignment, to keep you from overdoing it. And Spock and I both bounce back fast. He won't let you fuss any more than I do, normally. The difference this time, is that there isn't a mission to distract us. He's not back to his usual self yet. And you are having a field day mother-henning him."

"For good reason."

"And I'm outnumbered," Kirk said stubbornly. "You've got Abrams, another human doctor, telling you a bunch of sob stories from his childhood. All these Vulcan healers, naturally telling you all the logical reasons why he can never do anything again, that they conveniently never wanted him to do in the first place."

"They're logical for a good reason."

"You feed on each other," Kirk accused. "Convincing yourselves of all the reasons why he has to be packed in cotton wool for the rest of his life. It doesn't help that no one here wanted Spock in Fleet to begin with. You, too. Even wearing a Fleet uniform, you've never really been Fleet. You're all biased against him."

"I don't think that's true," McCoy said, bridling at this.

"It is true. It wouldn't be this way if we were on the _Enterprise_. And his parents. They still think of him as their boy who ran away to sea but now is safe home. I don't blame them for wanting to keep him here. Heck, if I were them, I'd want him home too. But that's not what Spock really wants."

McCoy let out a ragged breath and put a hand out to steady himself against a rock outcropping. "How do you know what Spock really wants?"

Kirk faced off against McCoy. "**Which **Vulcan First Officer hijacked a Starship, kidnapped his former Captain, betrayed his current one, risked the death penalty, not to mention destroying his own career and even mine too, to save Chris Pike from a live of helpless invalidism? You know the answer as to who did that. Spock. Your unemotional, logical, by-the-book regulations-only Vulcan did."

"Jim, you **have** rescued Spock. That deed has been done."

"What good does that do, if I let you and Starfleet, and his parents make him an invalid?" Kirk set his face, pointing down at the Fortress below. "Oh, it's easy to do. Starfleet would already be happy to write him off. They don't want any more trouble from Sarek. And climbing up from a torture situation is a damn hard thing for anyone to do. Not that I'm not convinced Spock can do it. But it can be only too easy to use a crutch. And for a while, a crutch might be okay. But if you're not careful, you can find yourself crippled from leaning on a crutch. Hand-fasted. Spock wouldn't want that."

"Has he told you that?"

"Plain enough for me to understand."

"I'm seeing something the opposite."

"Oh, Bones," Kirk shook his head. "When we were on our way to Talos, what did Chris Pike keep flashing? All the way there?"

McCoy looked at him.

"I'll remind you. No. No. No. No. No."

"It's not the same thing, Jim."

"Isn't it? Spock is battered. Maybe even a little scared. You think I don't see that? I understand. How could I not? I was on **Tarsus, **Bones. I saw thousands starve and die under Kodos. I starved and was nearly a casualty myself. I was dealing with that crushing reality while Spock was living in a castle, attending the best Vulcan schools, with guards around to make sure he wasn't kidnapped for ransom. You don't have to tell **me** about starvation and torture."

McCoy softened a bit. "I know, Jim. But this is a bit different. And you don't know the half of it."

"I know Spock. He may be battered. He may be unsure. He may not even make it back to Fleet. And it's great he has family to give him a soft place to fall, if the fall has to happen. But he also needs someone to tell him he can do it. Because I believe he can. And he needs someone to believe in him. Not someone telling him he can't."

"It's not that we don't believe in him. It's that we're listening to him."

"Are you? Are you really?" Kirk shook his head. "You may be hearing, but I don't know that you are listening. Remember, that Pike said _no_ too. Until we got to Talos. And then he was grateful and glad that Spock took him anyway, in spite of his flashing no through the whole trip. The difference is Pike had Spock on his side. But you're telling Spock that he can't-"

"**He's** telling me he can't," McCoy flared.

"He's telling you that he's **scared** that he might not be able to. That's an entirely different thing."

McCoy paused, breathing hard. "I don't know, Jim. You might be right. But I have to go on what I see."

"Fine. You're the doctor. You have your role. But don't begrudge me mine."

"You're going beyond what a Captain should be doing. Asking more. And you might be going too far."

"You're damn right I am. But it's not really too far, is it? Because I don't have to take him to Talos, do I? I just have to stand up to Fleet, and you, and his parents. And maybe even him. Maybe even with him flashing no a little bit. I **get** that it's not a popular role, Bones. You all can damn me all you like. Fleet can threaten me. But if he makes it, then he's **free**. And what the hell do I care if I ruffle a few feathers along the way?"

"Let's sit down," McCoy said, settling on a boulder. "I can't climb any higher. The air is too thin here." McCoy panted for a few minutes, until he caught his breath. "I get it. You're risked your career fighting with the Admiralty over Spock. And maybe even your friendship with Spock."

"Spock risked the death penalty for Pike, and risked being tried as a madman, a traitor, a thief and a lawless kidnapper. Do you honestly think that **anything** that I have done even slightly compares? That I would do less for Spock, than he did for Pike? I feel ridiculous even making the comparison. But I am here to see that he makes it back, in spite of all of you. Even to a certain extent, in spite of himself. Or at least that if he can't make it back, he hasn't been boxed into that choice by everyone else's limited expectations for him."

"It's not the same. You don't know the half of it."

"You're not in Command. That's not how I see it. Or how Spock sees it, deep down. He's a Fleet Officer, a Command Officer. You're looking at where he's injured. I'm looking at what he needs to do to heal."

"I'm an Fleet officer too."

"You're a doctor, not a combat officer. You have to help him your way. I have to help him mine. And it may not be coddling him with understanding and care. Sometimes it takes a kick in the pants. It may not be as pretty, or as laudable, but it is as essential to who he was and can still be as your tasks. He needs me to remind him that he could do it before and he can do it again. He needs me to tell him I expect it of him and push him, even berate him, to try. It hurts to come back after something like this. It's discouraging. It's frightening. It's painful. It doesn't matter if it's a physical wound or one of another kind. Coming back from an injury always hurts. But it has to be done, if he's going to be whole again."

"And what if he can't be whole?"

"That's your job, then. But do you think I'll disbelieve in him for a moment, for a second that he can't be all he was again? When he needs me to believe in him, and yes to push him, more than ever? Right now, I'm **all he's got** in that vein. You're so busy, you and Sarek and Amanda, making sure he understands he has a soft place to fall , that you don't remember that sometimes if you have a place to fall back to, then that's what you do. Particularly if you are tired and confused and everyone is telling you that's all you can do. But that's not right, Bones. And that's not fair to him."

"You didn't answer me. What if he can't make it, Jim?"

Kirk sighed and mopped his brow, watching a hawk in the distance. "Then he'll know he tried and we all believed in him and that he fought and struggled and did his best. If he doesn't make it back to the Enterprise, that's one thing. I'll let him know he fought the good fight. If he thinks we don't believe that he can, that's another. I'm not about to let him think that."

McCoy sighed and mopped his face with a sleeve, looking out across the desert. "I'd forgotten about Spock and Talos," he admitted. "Not **that** he did it. But **why** he did it. I mean, I remembered the hijacking of course. But I don't like to think about Pike himself."

"Because you're a doctor, not a command officer. It's your job to do the taking care. It's Spock's job, and mine, to do the hijacking. Even when it looks ugly. And when it doesn't win you any friends."

McCoy eyed him sidewise, looking up at Kirk faced off against the Vulcan sky. "You're not planning to hijack him, are you, Jim?"

Kirk sighed gustily and sank down on the boulder next to McCoy. "I thought I **had**, more or less. At least out of a Fleet rehab center and into a shore leave. I guess I was not as good a planner, because it only worked until Sarek derailed those plans. And now...we're right back in rehab. Vulcan style. With Fleet making noises in the background." He met McCoy's worried gaze. "No I don't plan to whisk him off to Talos or anywhere else. But I do plan to push him. And he can tell me _No, no,_ and you can give me dire warnings and tell me I'm a insensitive bastard. And I don't give a damn. Because this is my job, Bones. It may not be in the regs and you can tell me how I'm violating them. What Spock did wasn't in the regs either. But sometimes, even Spock needs a kick in the pants. He's done it for me, a few times when I faltered. And I snarled back at him too, until I was grateful afterwards. It's a First Officer's job. And sometimes a Captain's. And unless and until I see he can't make it back I am going to keep pushing."

"And what if you **can't** see it, Jim."

Kirk turned toward him, puzzled. "But we're not there yet, Bones. Hell, so far as I can see, we haven't even started."

"And if it happens that he can't make it?"

"Then I'll do whatever he asks me to do." He looked at McCoy. "He hasn't asked me to leave or told me to stop. He may not be sure he wants to return to duty, but he isn't sure he doesn't want to. And that tells me I still have a job to do."

"He's mad at you."

"Good. I'm a little mad at him. And he's probably going to get a lot madder. And so may I. Because I have just gotten started. And he can hate me forever, Bones. If it means he gets even a little bit better, even if it means losing his friendship, then I'll count it worth the trade. But Spock's not like that. He may get mad, but he'll get over it. Because he understands, Bones. Do you think he could have conceived of doing that for Pike, if he wouldn't have wanted someone to rescue **him** in similar circumstances? No Command officer wants to be retired as an invalid. **These** are those circumstances."

"You think so, huh?"

"I know so. I don't think he's ready to be cocooned on Vulcan yet. When he's ready to return on his own terms, that's fine. But he doesn't want to be forced home, a casualty, a cripple. He needs to get back to finish the mission. If he wants to return then, after the mission, well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

McCoy sighed. "Just supposing he does make it back... I'm already hearing rumbles that after this tour Starfleet is not going to let you keep him. Heck, Jim, they might not even let you keep the _Enterprise_. You might be kicked upstairs. Or sideways. You sure aren't making any friends in the Admiralty now. But they are **not** going to let you keep Spock. They have deep concerns about the ties he seems to create among Command officers. First Pike. They thought then that it was Pike. But then Talos happened. And then it happened again with you on this mission. Vulcan loyalty ties are starting to scare them. Vulcan abilities in general are starting to scare them. They will not let you two ship together in a second mission. I can guarantee that."

"One problem at a time, Bones."

McCoy rubbed his forehead with a hand. "I don't know what to say to you."

"If you can't help me, then just stay out of my way," Kirk warned him darkly.

"I don't know that I can do that."

"You do your thing. I'll do mine."

"You're complaining when I do mine."

"All right so you have me there. I'll try to complain a little less. I get what you have to do, Bones. I just don't have to like it. And I don't expect you to like what I have to do. But you leave me to do it."

McCoy rubbed his forehead again. "Maybe you are right. Maybe I am feeling this too much. And I should recuse myself."

Kirk looked pained. "No, Bones. We need you. I need you."

"I may be too close to this situation. I'd be the last to admit it to him, Jim, but I am fond of Spock. I'm having a bit of trouble, knowing what I know, sending him back to face that again. Even dealing with the whole Fleet thing. I may not be the one to make it back after this tour is over. That's what I'm feeling. A nice G.P. practice. Poking bellies. Handing out lollipops. I can handle that."

"Bones." Kirk's face was distressed. "You can do this."

"Even supposing he can make it back, I'm beginning to doubt myself. And I have begun to severely doubt that he can. In fact, I don't know how you can face the prospect. That's why I wonder if I shouldn't recuse myself."

Kirk sighed. "You feel that way because you're a doctor. And Spock and I are both warriors. A little beaten and battered, but warriors. That's what his friends see, when they look at him. That's what the guards see. What his fellow officers see. Even Sarek, if just a bit, because he mostly still thinks of him as his child, not yet as an adult. We see him, think of him, treat him that way. Because that's what he is. You and Abrams, Sivesh, you all see him as a patient. Amanda, and Sarek too, well he's mostly just their mixed up kid. They think they know what's best for him. What he should want. And he's not strong enough yet to fight any of you. He might be compromised enough, right now, to surrender to a well meaning if misguided friend, doctor or parent, even where he would still fight an enemy to the death. That's the danger he's in right now. But he's not a kid. Based on what he did for Pike we sure know he doesn't want to be a permanent invalid. He's chosen his life. The kindest thing we all can do, is to make sure he can get back to it. Even if to be kind, we have to be a little cruel."

"I'm supposed to be the shrink."

"You are, Bones. But like you said, this one time, you've gotten squeamish about being cruel. You want to be kind. That's okay. Be kind, then. Count on me to be the stick."

"I know I have to start pushing him again. At least until he says no, in no uncertain terms." McCoy looked at Kirk. "I'm not looking forward to it. But I guess we do have to try."

"Sometimes, when I'm trying to sleep at night, and can't," Kirk mused. "I think about that trip to Talos. He must have been half out of his mind with worry. Setting up all the computer controls to hijack the ship, kidnapping Pike from the Starbase, getting to Talos, dealing with me, and you, the fiction of the trial. He broke so many regulations, so many laws. He must have worried so that something would go wrong in all that along the way. But he never counted the cost, or at least he determined the disgrace was worth the risk. And when he was in the brig, between court sessions, he was alone. He did it all, entirely, alone. No one to talk to. I've had you through this, even though you don't think much of me for it. You had me. But with Talos, he didn't have either one of us to confide in. We had each other then too. And we have each other now. I don't want him to be alone again, Bones. So you can complain and threaten. But you can get one thing through your head through all that's coming. I'm not going anywhere. No matter what threats you offer. I would hijack him again before I'd let that happen."

"He can talk to us now," McCoy mused.

Kirk nodded. "But he's not talking, Bones. He's still not talking. He's still all alone. It's time, it's past time to push. Even if it gets ugly." He looked across at McCoy. "And you can't recuse yourself. You have to hang in. If you can't fight for him, than at least deal. He's a Starfleet Officer. And he wants to come back."

"How do you **know**," McCoy demanded. "He hasn't said so. And he may be battered worse than even you've conceived."

"How did he know what Pike really wanted, about Talos? In spite of all those _no_ signals? Damn it, Bones. He's a telepath. How the hell do you **think** I know?"

McCoy's eyes widened at this. "But you're no telepath."

"Working sleeve to sleeve with one, you get pretty attuned. I **know**, Bones."

McCoy sighed. "Do you ever not know, Jim? Is there ever a time when you aren't sure of exactly the right path to take?"

Kirk looked puzzled. "Sure. How many times have you brought me a brandy and a pep talk when I faltered? I know this because I do know Spock. I'm just returning the favor for you now."

"Hmmn," McCoy rubbed his chin. "So where's the brandy? Right now, I'd settle for a bottle of water. We came out with nothing, Jim."

"I'll owe you one," Kirk grinned and offered him a hand up.

"What, so now we have to walk **down** this mountain?"

"Be careful," Kirk said. "It's steep."

"You still have that phaser?"

"Oh, Bones, there won't be any cats at this level," Kirk assured him. "Anyway, if there are, they'll all sleep till nighttime."

"At least Spock only had to fly the Enterprise to Talos. Not climb mountains or fight wild animals," McCoy groused as the Starfleet pair slipped and slid down the trail toward the distant lematya banners flying in the breeze, marking the ancient Fortress below.

_To be continued… I warned you all this was a long novel..._


	40. Chapter 40

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 40**

The Vulcan cavalry didn't come over the hill, but across the plains from Shikahr. McCoy came down the stairs from his suite, where he'd showered and changed clothes after his desert trek, to meet with the Vulcan healer when he arrived.

"Hey, Sivesh," he said, with the familiarity of days spent in the Healer's company.

"Leonard," Sivesh answered in turn. "I gather Spock's progress has caused concern?"

"Well," McCoy drawled, waggling his head. "He has had some troubling symptoms for which his parents would like a second opinion. I have his scanner readings and my notes since you were last here, if you want to review them before seeing him." He held out his tricorder.

"Very well," Sivesh said. "Let us go in here." They settled down in the breakfast room. T'Jar came in, to see if anything was wanted, but when she saw the guest was a Vulcan healer, she didn't bother to offer him anything. She merely turned to McCoy and at his headshake went back out. During this exchange, Sivesh went through McCoy's notes and Spock's medical history in record time, his face expressionless.

"Well?" McCoy asked, when he looked up.

"Certainly somewhat troubling. I can make no conclusions at this time however. I prefer to see assess him personally."

"He's waiting next door," McCoy said. "Uh, I should warn you he's still a little, um, fragile, when it comes to dealing with medical personnel. Go carefully with him."

"Naturally," Sivesh said. Though he seemed to take little account of McCoy's concerns. Perhaps that was Vulcan reserve.

But McCoy wondered if Sivesh understood Spock's issues with the medical profession. McCoy had always thought Spock's attitude was just with human physicians, or just with him. But his time on Vulcan had shown him it didn't much matter, healer or doctor, human or Vulcan, Spock wanted no truck with any of them, given a choice.

Sarek came up behind them as they entered. Jim was already there, playing chess with Spock, with Amanda across, her needlework still in her lap. Sivesh paused as he took in the room, the casual gathering, the sehlats who must have had previous acquaintance with the healer for they thumped stumpy tails, and his patient. Spock raised his head at his approach, the shadows at the back of his narrowed eyes shading darker in wariness.

"Perhaps we could have privacy?" Sivesh suggested. "Here, or we could repair to your room."

Spock looked around as if the suggestion disturbed him. Clearly the idea of being alone with the healer appealed to him even less than having others present.

"Fleet doesn't recommend any exams take place in a bedroom, if it can be prevented," McCoy said, leaning against the doorframe, eyeing Spock speculatively. "Now that Spock's more mobile, I'd prefer to avoid that."

"With Spock's permission," Sarek said, not missing Spock's wary tension. "I believe I should attend. His behavior is occasionally ... precipitous."

Spock lowered his head at that, his jaw setting. But he didn't dispute it.

"Jim and I will be across the hall," Amanda said, gathering her needlework.

Kirk started at that. Clearly he hadn't planned on budging. But as she began to rise, he swallowed whatever inadvertent protest he'd been considering. He gave Spock a hard look as if in question, but moved as if to follow her. Spock forestalled them both with a gesture.

"Privacy is not necessary," Spock said. "Given my memory is not fully functional, even to events since my return to Vulcan, everyone here no doubt has insights on my condition that I do not recall that may prove pertinent."

Amanda hesitated. "That's true," she allowed. She shrugged and resettled. "Very well. If you don't mind."

"Privacy would be more indicated, if I were to do a mind touch. But I gather from Sarek, Spock, that you are at best ambivalent about that aspect a healer's assessment," Sivesh said, crossing over to Spock. "Is that correct?"

Spock eyed the healer and didn't answer, as if he were testing his own ability anew, now with the healer in the room.

"Would you wish me to attempt it?" Sivesh held out a hand, almost in invitation.

Spock flinched back before he could stop the inadvertent reaction, answering that question without words. "Apparently not," he said.

"Then I will use scanners only at this time," Sivesh said, ignoring Spock's reaction so completely it might not have been. He produced a kit not too dissimilar from McCoy's. Spock regarded that as if it contained poisonous insects, but he held though Sivesh's exam. The healer conducted his assessment in silence, only once holding out a device and telling Spock, "Touch", apparently to get a tissue/blood sample for analysis. When he had finished taking readings he reviewed them briefly. Then he studied Spock for long moments, first with a sharp dissecting gaze and then with unfocused eyes, clearly using other senses. At one point, Spock flinched during this, and Sivesh came back to himself.

"My apologies," he said, and drew back into himself so clearly his mental aura was almost physical. "In some respects it is unfortunate that your family position requires another path. You do have the sensitivity to be an excellent healer."

"In a pig's eye," McCoy couldn't stop himself from muttering at the heresy of Spock being a physician. Not that he hadn't shown talent for it, from Vulcan and human aspects. But McCoy thought Spock would rather sell himself as live bait before undertaking such a profession.

Sivesh glanced at McCoy but then ignored the interjection, having become familiar enough with the human physician to fairly judge when these nonsensical mutterings were not meant to be part of rational dialogue.

"So," Sivesh turned back to Spock. "May I ask for **your** assessment of your condition?"

Spock appeared completely nonplussed by such a broad, direct question. Clearly it was one he hadn't expected.

"So that's Vulcanspeak for 'How do you feel?'" McCoy commented brightly, with his catbird grin, purposely giving Spock a little time, and a brief respite from all eyes on him. "I'll have to remember that."

Spock glanced at McCoy and back to Sivesh. He seemed unwilling to divulge anything.

"It's not a test, Spock," Sivesh said, a shade of surprise in his voice at Spock's hesitation. "There are no right or wrong answers."

Spock just flicked a brow in clear disparagement of that naive comment. He said nothing, his resistance unyielding, solidifying rather than lessening.

"Nor an interrogation, either, Spock," McCoy added, a bit more gently.

Sivesh glanced from his review of Spock's readings to Spock himself. "Well, perhaps some questions. Is there a percentage of time over the course of any given day when you consider yourself fully able to engage in normal activities?"

Faced with the prospect of a numerical evaluation, Spock looked a little more willing. He thought about it with his usual scrupulous honestly. "Perhaps twenty-five percent, on some days," Spock allowed.

Kirk drew a breath, apparently stunned at that answer.

Sivesh flicked a brow, aware of Kirk's response but not sparing him a glance. "I confess, given your readings, to some astonishment at so high an assessment. Though it explains why you are attempting so much."

"But there **are** times when he is well," Kirk argued. "Nearly well," he amended, as Sarek shifted in near impatience for a Vulcan.

"But times when that is clearly not the case," Sarek returned, giving Kirk a repressive glance.

"He just needs to build on that," Kirk argued back.

Spock gave a little sigh at this clash between his Vulcan and Human lives, personified in his father and his captain.

"Yes," Sivesh said. "I understand that discrepancy could be confusing." He looked around at the group. "I had an unusual interaction with one gentlemen at your recent social gathering. Which I assessed that you handled very well," he added, turning back to Spock. "He was discussing how he had to leave early because his children were ailing – at least that was how the translator rendered the term. When I inquired as to whether Vulcan healers could be of assistance, it turned out his _puir bairn,_ or his unfortunate child, was actually a starship in the process of being repaired."

Kirk chuckled and even Spock's rigid shoulders dropped a fraction.

"I see you met our Chief Engineer Scott," McCoy commented dryly.

"Quite. But in point of fact," Sivesh said, frowning back at Spock as if he were a particular puzzle to be dissected and solved, "the body is an engine of sorts. Chemical, electrical. The heart beats as a result of a sodium/potassium reaction that creates an electrical charge. Memory is chemically encoded. When certain nutrients are eliminated from the diet for a long enough period, these processes fail, wholly or in part."

"Thiamine deficiencies," McCoy said. "Wernicke-Korsakoff's syndrome."

"In humans, that is one example. Strong electrical charges, such as those used in a mindsifter, or from natural causes such as lightning strike or accidents involving electrical shock have also been proven to impair memory. Sometimes when these disruptions abate normal functioning returns. It is also a given that when one's health has been severely compromised, and healing is in progress, setbacks are to be expected, particularly if the environment is not consistent. If the presence of a given nutrient is in short supply in the body, and there are no reserves, then when one consumes the minimal requirement on a given day, there may be just enough to render memory functional. But if one fails to consume the necessary requirements, a body which lacks reserves enough to compensate will be unable to perform those functions."

Amanda looked at Sarek. "Well, I suppose that's one explanation. Leonard, do you consider that feasible?"

"It's possible," McCoy allowed.

"Then to remedy this situation, one option may be a short but intensive period of induced nutrition by surgical intervention. Humans refer to it as Hyperalimentation. Nutrients are directly-"

Spock flinched so abruptly that it might almost be considered a recoil, and put his hand to his throat. "No," he said. "Absolutely not."

"Vulcans **would** consider this extremely barbaric," Sivesh agreed. "It was obvious, from Spock's...injuries when he first arrived on Vulcan, that if this was not part of Klingon methods, and it seems doubtful they would both starve and resort to this dangerous method, it may have part of Starfleet Intelligence Services debriefing methods. Given he must have been even more debilitated in that interval it may have been necessary to expedite their interrogation."

Spock put a hand to his collarbone, his face shuttered.

"I concur with Spock that there are less drastic methods of avoiding those symptoms. Ones more in keeping with Vulcan methods. Given Spock appears to display a variation in abilities from day to day, it seems past time to institute an extremely defined and ordered schedule. One that incorporates precise and adhered to allotments for rest, nutrition and regulated activity. That can alleviate those issues caused by deficiencies. Such a schedule, rigidly adhered to, will provide a benchmark for present abilities without the variations produced by temporary lack of nutrition or needed rest. Regular monitoring and testing will allow the schedule to be adjusted for any defects and for maximum recovery."

His hand still on his collarbone, Spock still appeared to be checked out, eyes closed, breathing shallow.

With no argument from Spock, Sivesh began to expound on the benefits of scheduling and monitoring, speaking mostly to Sarek, Amanda and McCoy. He failed to notice Spock's interest had waned. The longer Sivesh talked about the benefits of regulation the more distant the younger Vulcan appeared.

Frowning, Kirk rose to sit next to Spock. "Hey," he muttered. "I've been through those debriefings too, you know. Not as bad as yours, of course. But yeah, they aren't a picnic, for sure."

Spock didn't answer.

"Bones?" Kirk said. "I think Spock's …" his voice trailed off.

"Hey," McCoy said, turning his attention from Sivesh as he belatedly noticed Spock's distress, and moving across to him. "Deep breaths. The exam part is over. You can take it easy now."

Spock blinked at McCoy, coming back to himself. He dropped his hand from his throat, but instead of turning back to Sivesh, he looked out the windows as if at least to visually escape. At this lower level, only the formal Vulcan gardens could be seen, and over the garden wall, just the tips of the far distant Llangon range.

McCoy caught Sarek's eye, and jerked his chin toward Spock. "I think we had better postpone further discussion," McCoy noted. "Spock's had enough."

Sarek frowned slightly at the interruption. "Are you not attending to Sivesh?" Sarek turned to his son. "His methods seem to make logical - Spock?"

When Spock didn't answer, Sivesh raised a brow. In almost the next moment, Sarek turned his head back toward Sivesh inquiringly. But Spock visibly started. In fact, for a Vulcan, he nearly jumped out of his skin. McCoy put a hand on his shoulder inadvertently, feeling him draw a sharp, shocked breath.

"You okay?" McCoy asked him. "Someone stick you with a pin? It wasn't me with a hypospray, I assure you."

Shrugging off McCoy's hand, Spock turned a stormy, accusing gaze on Sivesh, brows lowered in a furious expression that was not normal for Spock, even at the height of battle.

"My apologies. I had not realize you would be quite so affected," Sivesh said, though satisfied he'd captured the younger Vulcan's full attention. "It is a shame that your son has other duties required of him," Sivesh added, turning to Sarek. "His sensitivity is indeed more than equal to the best of healers."

"Way to go to get him sympathetic to the profession," McCoy muttered, mostly to himself, wary eyes on Spock. Amanda glanced at him in mutual commiseration. McCoy was psi-null enough that he hadn't picked up on whatever psionic finger snap Sivesh had used to get Spock's attention. But he could correctly interpret that while the tactic might be considered more polite in Vulcan society than a poke or a _hey, you, _it had badly startled Spock, perhaps even pained him. Certainly it had alienated him. Spock had caught hold of his temper, but his now mulish expression and stiff shoulders indicated at this moment he'd rather dig ditches than join Sivesh's ranks. And that at least for the moment, Sivesh had lost him in other ways too. McCoy knew that cold reserve well enough to know that, however unintentional, however logical, however Vulcan Sivesh's action had been, the healer had made a wrong move.

Meanwhile, Sivesh had returned to his discussion of schedules, assessments and optional remedial programs with Sarek. It sounded like a veritable Vulcan field day of scientific assessment and experimentation. But Spock's expression had gone cold.

And remembering Abrams medical reports on Spock, McCoy felt cold as well. He knew, suddenly, that however logical, this might be the exactly wrong approach for Sivesh to take with Spock. But he wasn't quite sure how to approach it.

Brow furrowed in confusion and distress, Kirk was also studying Spock. For as Sivesh waxed on, Spock had turned away again, looking out at the distant Llangons. When Sarek turned back to Spock, to gage his assessment of Sivesh's plans, the elder Vulcan's expression grew fractionally impatient as Sarek realized Spock was once again checked out.

"Were you listening, Spock? Do you concur?" Sarek asked.

Kirk looked to McCoy and shook his head fractionally. "This isn't working. Let's quit this."

"It's obvious Spock is fatigued," McCoy conceded, putting the best light he could on it.

"Perhaps we should allow Spock to rest and," Sivesh turned to Sarek with an inquiring glance to Amanda, "continue this discussion – in your office, Sarek?"

"I would think Spock would wish to be present," Sarek said. "Are you in concurrence with Sivesh's suggestion? Spock?" His voice sharpened slightly when his son failed to respond. "Spock."

At this, Spock nodded, human-style, still with his eyes on the distant Llangons.

Sivesh rose. "We will meet later, Spock."

"I'll tag along," McCoy said, and muttered to Jim, "_Don't leave him_."

"Is this what you want, Spock?" Kirk asked, when the door closed after them.

Spock turned to him slowly. "What **I** want?" He raised an ironic brow.

"Hell, it doesn't matter what anyone else wants. It's what you want that matters."

"You suggested this," Spock accused.

"Hey, I thought he could help. But if he can't - Spock, you didn't escape from Klingons to be held hostage by damn Vulcan healers. Or their regimens."

Spock half smiled at that and his body language relaxed. "I tend to agree."

"The hell with him."

"It is often not logical. But I do like your thinking, James T. Kirk."

"Well, we're friends," Kirk said, getting up and coming over to Spock.

"Friends," Spock said. And nodded, giving a little sigh. "But you should go."

"McCoy said - But if you want to rest," Kirk began.

"No. You should go."

"Spock?" Kirk's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I would think it would now be obvious. Even to you. I can't return to the Enterprise. Not like this. Jim, I may **never** be able to return."

Don't say that!" Kirk objected. And then caught hold of himself. "That's not what Sivesh said. That's the opposite of what he was saying."

"I know. But, obviously I have much work to do to recover fully. If that is even possible. And while I appreciate the support you have given, and the faith, at this time more of it is obviously…misplaced. You need to return to the Enterprise. There is no point in risking your career on a lost cause."

"You've never been a lost cause in your life."

Spock gave Kirk a measured look of appreciation. "Thank you, Jim." He straightened his shoulders as if in resolve, face moving into Vulcan lines. "Nevertheless, I must stay here."

Kirk blew out an exasperated breath. "Spock, you don't even **like** it here."

"You don't know that," Spock countered, his brows narrowing. "You don't know **me**."

"I do."

"**This** part of me."

"Maybe you **wish** that I didn't. It would make it easier for you to kid yourself."

Spock ducked his head and took a moment to reestablish his control from his own flare of impatience. "Jim. Perhaps you are right. But regardless, at least for now," Spock set his mouth against the necessity, "I have things I have to do here. To accomplish. Or reaccomplish. And apparently, since I need to stay to do that, perhaps I must try to give this life a chance again. As I always knew was inevitable."

"I don't know, Spock," Kirk brow furrowed in doubt. "I can tell you were hardly thrilled with Sivesh's regime."

"Still it was your idea to return to more expeditious Vulcan methods."

"Because I thought they'd help you do a healing trance. Not what Sivesh is suggesting."

Spock shuddered. "That would require a mental contact. I can't." Spock drew a breath. "Perhaps in time."

"There's still almost a week left. Unless you are kicking me out?"

Spock sighed a little. "I would not be averse if you chose to stay until you must leave."

"I didn't say I was leaving, Spock," Kirk said. "But we have some time before Fleet is going to force a final decision. And maybe they'll give us more time. Before then, another solution may come up. And you can try Sivesh's suggestions if you want to, and see how it goes." He looked at the expression that washed over Spock's face before fading. "I can tell that you can't wait."

"As you say," Spock said, setting his jaw. "We will see how it goes."

It was a singularly non-logical statement from an allegedly logical being, but Kirk missed the import of that, focusing instead on his friend's manner. "If you hate the idea that much," Kirk said, "hell, we'll break out of here today."

"It's not that," Spock said, though he did look reluctantly resigned. "I had hoped I was past that sort of supervision. Years ago. But now I am back in my father's house. With the prospect of reliving it again." He looked at Jim. "It is something I don't wish to experience."

"It's not the same." Kirk said. "You're not a child anymore."

"Vulcan attitudes hold rather different opinions of relative maturity. And I rather doubt Sarek has much changed his," Spock said. "But I suppose all I can do is try."

To be continued...


	41. Chapter 41

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 41**

It was said that one couldn't go home again, Amanda often thought. Certainly it was true for her. But that was a human conviction. One she had always discounted for Spock, given Vulcans always have to come home again. Biology after all, pretty makes a necessity of it for Vulcans. And the logic, or common sense, of Sivesh's approach had seduced her into hopefulness.

But then she'd seen how very disengaged Spock had been on listening to Sivesh's proposal. She had been somewhat puzzled at that, as logical as the Healer's approach had seemed to her. Perhaps McCoy was right, in that Spock could only come back to them on his own terms, and was unable, or unwilling to be pushed, however logical or kindly meant. But a warning toll knelled through her body. Because Sarek's and Spock's reaction to Sivesh's plan were so very different.

At one point in Spock's life, they would not have been at odds. Sarek clearly regarded Sivesh's plan, duly delivered later that day in all its detail, as a logical sensible blueprint to assessing Spock's issues and recovery. A way to analyze what was going on and with that analysis perhaps reverse the effect.

Sarek's expectations were not entirely misplaced. At one time, Spock would have thrown himself into any set schedule with a vengeance, determined to best it. To meet or exceed all its expected timelines and milestones better than any full Vulcan ever had. To outVulcan Vulcans.

But that had been a different Spock. One Sarek had never willingly let go of. And one Spock had at least partially abandoned when he had left for Starfleet at eighteen. Perhaps Spock had actually left that part of himself behind years before that, when he had determined he had little left to prove about his ability to be Vulcan. Or his inability. At least on Vulcan. In Starfleet, she wasn't sure.

Regardless, the present Spock seemed to have something different to prove. Or it was possible he was past proving anything to anyone. Save perhaps to himself. And to that, his goals and timetables were entirely his own.

But perhaps that was a human attitude in Spock, which Sarek could not perfectly understand.

Except she was having some trouble understand her son herself.

Perhaps he had just been tired. She hoped so.

Sivesh sent over his schedule later that same afternoon. Spock did follow it the remainder of that first day. Amanda gave the menus to T'Rueth. Spock ate the evening meal allotted to him on Sivesh's diet and went off to bed to rest as indicated. She wished she felt it were going to be that simple.

"I believe Sivesh has developed an excellent plan to assess Spock's condition and recovery," Sarek said to her that evening as they prepared for bed. In the privacy of their room, he let himself show a somewhat unVulcan measure of relief at the prospect.

"That would be wonderful," she solemnly agreed, hopeful herself.

He came to her, and ran a light finger down the revealing line between her brows. "You are still concerned."

She looked away from his too discerning gaze. "I suppose I don't want to get too hopeful, too soon. Spock didn't seem very engaged in the plan."

"He was merely fatigued."

She looked down, biting her lip. "That's a Vulcan take on his behavior."

He tipped her chin up with strong fingers. "What _take_ would you place on it?"

She took a half step back and met the unyielding bar of his arm behind her. "I don't know, Sarek"

"He gave every indication of following it this evening," Sarek said, raising a brow, surprised at her.

"Maybe you're right." She pushed back the niggle of unease along with the secretly held conviction that perhaps Spock had been too fatigued from Sivesh's visit to **bother** to do anything else.

"I think," Sarek said looking down at her, "you are engaging in a human propensity for worrying. A fruitless and potentially damaging activity. One prepares as one must. Further needless concern is pointless."

"You're right there, too," she conceded.

"Why is it that I am always right," Sarek said, cupping her cheek in his hand, tilting her face back to his, "at least according to your assessment, but that you still do not credit my convictions enough to cease worrying?"

She half smiled. It was true that Sarek seldom indulged in worrying. At least, not once he had decided on a course of action. "I suppose because I'm human."

"That is indeed a serious flaw," he teased, smoothing her unruly hair, which she'd let down for the night, "but one I have attempted to assist you in overcoming."

She looked up at him and then suddenly stepped into his near embrace and wrapped her arms tight around his neck. "Oh, Sarek."

"What?" he asked, taken aback as he felt her tears on his skin.

"Just hold me," she said face buried in his neck. "And promise me you'll **try** this time. **Really** try."

"Amanda," he drew her back from him, puzzled, frowning now, before he shook his head slightly, a human gesture. "I think you are very fatigued."

"I am," she said, but not speaking of the events of one day. More the events of 36 years.

He picked her up as easily as if she weighed nothing at all, and carried her to bed.

"Spock is home," he told her. "He is safe now. There is every indication that in time, with this new approach, he will soon be well. And we have ample other resources at hand to effect his recovery."

Amanda shook her head, frustrated, scrubbing at her wet face. "We've got Council next week, and Abraxis coming up. Our house is crawling with Starfleet officers - one of them incidentally being our son. And Spock is being, well, unpredictable, to say the least. I never know what to expect from him, day to day."

"For Spock, that is not unusual," Sarek said, deadpan.

"Sarek," she warned.

"But surely the whole point of the schedule is to minimize and eliminate factors relating to that unpredictability."

"If you say so," she said dubiously.

"It will be all right," Sarek said. He tilted her face up to his, this time just to kiss her. The heat of his skin, the strength of his arms, were a balm to her fractured emotions, giving her the illusion that perhaps he and Sivesh did have the solution, one Spock would follow. And with that she banished her worries, at least for the night.

With the Vulcan cavalry coming over the hill, Sarek too was relieved enough the next day to delegate some of his concerns over Spock to its care. Rather than spending a half day at home, as he had been since Spock's return, he spent the next full day away preparing for Council's reopening session and catching up on Federation business.

In spite of Amanda's concerns that Spock would reconsider his agreement when he was rested, the next morning Spock still proved tractable. Along with schedules and physical exams for Spock, Sivesh had set up tests of competency, both for short term memory recall and competence in general calculations and other tests of mental dexterity. The next morning, after Spock consumed his regimented breakfast, Sivesh's aides arrived to deliver those.

But Spock was curious enough about these to bring his "A" game. He'd always been challenged by tests and puzzles.

"I don't know," McCoy said, worried himself as Sivesh's aides arrived and he looked over their plans. "How do you plan to assess the fatigue factor, wholly apart from competence or cognitive skills? Spock's abilities vary widely right now, depending on how rested he is. The first hour he might test very differently than the second, and so on."

"That is also useful information. And there is enough redundancy built into the tests to account for that," the healers said huffily.

"If you say so," McCoy said, handing them back and leaving it to the experts.

But disproving all McCoy's concerns and Sivesh's expected assessments, Spock aced the first day's tests so thoroughly that Sivesh's staff had no benchmark from which to go up. The academic nature, the Vulcan setting, brought no unpleasant associations to memory from his captivity. Spock's innate intelligence and abilities had always been superior, even by Vulcan standards. Where the healers had been requiring at least some measure of flaws, his performance instead was flawless.

They reported this failure to Amanda with a somewhat shamefaced air.

"Well," Amanda said, glancing at her son, raising her brows. She was happy about the results, but aware it created another roadblock to assess Spock's recovery, "You never could resist an equal sign."

"We'll report back to Sivesh," one of his aides said to Amanda, on their way out. "And reconsider this issue. Outside of general knowledge, it will be somewhat of a puzzle to truly assess the areas that are at issue regarding memory alone. They are areas that are in some respects classified to StarFleet events and which Spock himself may recall imperfectly enough to give us a benchmark to assess success. But clearly on general knowledge, there is no issue."

Spock went to join Jim, who, banished from the tests, had been idly flipping channels while waiting for Spock's appearance.

"How'd you do?" Kirk asked, as Spock entered with Amanda and McCoy behind him.

"They will have to design better tests," Spock answered, shrugging, casually smug.

"Way to go," Kirk said, clenching a fist and punching the air, no doubt in his mind now that Spock was already well on the road to mending.

"Is that woman actually wearing a chicken on her head?" Spock asked raising an ironic brow, settling rather heavily down and eyeing the movie Kirk was watching. Now that the adrenalin rush of the tests was over, he was showing a bit of fatigue.

"It's a hat," Amanda said, looking up from the portable netpad she had been carrying around most of the morning, reading when she was free.

"Who cares what's on her head?" Kirk asked. "The rest is very fox—" he eyed Amanda belatedly and swallowed the rest of his comment.

"But that is hardly an attractive look," Spock added, nodding at another one.

"It's just a bow," Amanda said, glancing up again. "Well." She did a double take. "It **is** rather big."

"She looks like Minnie Mouse," Spock commented after due consideration, deadpan as only a Vulcan can be.

Kirk choked in laughter, and Amanda gave her son a skeptical look. "What do **you** know about Minnie Mouse?"

"Those rodents are a human cultural icon," Spock said with injured dignity. "Naturally, I would have made myself familiar with them."

"Naturally," Kirk said to Amanda, who sighed and shook her head, half smiling.

"And I have been to Disneyworld."

Both Amanda and Kirk sat up at that and turned to him. "You've been to Disneyworld?"

"Why is it you never cease to amaze me?" McCoy commented, who'd been sitting to one side, calmly coding Spock's test results into his medical record.

"You wouldn't go on the shore leave planet but you went there?" Kirk asked, injured at this slight.

"Maybe then he was younger and more frivolous," McCoy teased.

"What shore leave planet?" Spock asked, brow furrowing.

"You know. The white rabbit. Finnegan."

Spock flicked a brow, frowning as he paged through his memory. "Oh. Well. Quite. Perhaps that much shore leave I did not need. And as for Disneyworld, I was not on leave. Starfleet sent me to a computer conference in Orlando."

"Oh, a **computer** conference," McCoy said sourly and went back to his encoding.

"Why are **my** professional conferences never held in theme park resorts?" Amanda complained, looking up from her work, resting elbows on her netpad, suddenly aggrieved. "And your father's diplomatic conferences – they're even worse. I mean, Babel." She shook her head with a glance for Jim. "Talk about the back of nowhere."

"I won't argue with you there," Kirk agreed.

"At times I would seriously consider siding with these _'secede from the Federation factions'_ if only to never have to go to another diplomatic gathering ever again," Amanda concluded, and went back to her reading with a vengeance.

"Computer geeks are all dysfunctional adolescents, who at heart have never graduated from their parents' basements," McCoy teased. "So their conferences **have** to be held in venues that appeal to their arrested developments. Unlike the rest of us professionals."

"I see that even exposure to Vulcan Healers has not changed or altered Dr. McCoy's questionable bedside manner," Spock said. But his shoulders were relaxed and he clearly was amused and upbeat following his successful testing. "He is still as abusive as ever."

"I think it's time to run away to sea again, Spock," Kirk said.

"Unfortunately that wouldn't get me away from McCoy," Spock answered dryly.

"Come on, tell us about your trip to Disneyworld. We are all ears," McCoy said wickedly. "Mouse ears, that is. You did buy a pair while you were there, of course. I mean when in Disneyworld…"

Kirk snorted.

Spock shrugged lazily, tacit agreement to play. "I did not purchase a pair of mouse ears, Doctor, even though it did seem largely the custom of the country to wear them. But I did venture into the park."

"You were curious," McCoy accused.

"I was. But I went also because although there are gatherings that one can attend after the daily conference sessions, at these social events many attendees indulge in euphorics of one sort or another. As I very seldom indulge, I find the events pointless. Attempts at meaningful communication can be entirely one-sided."

The latter caught Amanda's attention. "Very seldom indulge?" She asked dangerously, setting aside her netbook, her brows rising. "Are you sure you want to tell **me** this?"

"I have known him to take the occasional brandy," McCoy teased.

"Given Vulcans do not metabolize alcohol as humans do, and as I do not care for the taste, it has been purely as a social gesture," Spock said.

"Ah, but Vulcans do metabolize Romulan Ale," McCoy said. "And he has tasted that."

'Very little," Spock replied, undrawn by McCoy's teasing. "As I said, I do not care for the taste. But I am of age."

"Your Father would debate that," Amanda said doubtfully.

Spock flicked a brow, discounting that. "What is the use of a human mother, if one can't claim Terran citizenship and run away to sea?" he teased in turn.

Amanda shook her head ruefully. "You are wicked. And you got me in quite a little bit of trouble with your father over that."

"I don't see why," Spock said frowning. "It was entirely my doing."

She looked at him for a long evaluative moment but chose to let that pass. "So what did you do at Disneyworld?"

"As I said, the after conference parties were tedious. So I went to see the park. It was fascinating. And the reason the conference was held at the park was in part because many computer experts work there. It is an almost wholly automated environment. Rather like that Shore Leave planet, in that respect, although not with such a degree of fabrication."

"A real Vulcan Mecca then. I'd **still** like to see you on a roller coaster," McCoy said.

"Oh, Bones, they're nothing compared to Starfleet training simulators," Kirk said, half smiling at Spock's reminiscences.

"G forces are stimulating," Spock countered.

"Yeah, ten G doesn't upset his stomach. But a shot of vitamins does," McCoy groused.

Spock shuddered. "Please, doctor. The mere thought of your evil potions makes me ill. The G force rides were mildly interesting to observe, but, as Jim says, nothing special. However, one attraction was quite startling. I believe it was Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. A witch, or rather a simulacrum of one, came out of a cupboard unexpectedly and screamed in my face."

"But isn't that in the baby part of the park?" Amanda asked suspiciously. "What were you doing there?"

"I had read _The Wind in the Willows_," Spock answered, "And was curious to see their adaptation. Disappointingly the ride bore little resemblance to the events of the book."

Amanda half laughed, and rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. "Oh, Spock. And you're the one off saving the galaxy in a paper boat? You really oughtn't to be let out alone. "

Kirk scowled. "I don't know why you keep calling it that. The _Enterprise_ is -"

"A ship," she tiredly finished for Kirk. "A ship. Yes, I know."

"A heavy **cruiser**," Kirk amended.

"_Not _paper," Spock noted.

"It's wonderful, marvelous, the best ship in the Federation," Amanda said dryly. "I apologize, to you **and** to Mr. Scott for slandering it."

"Though it is only a Constellation class starship. Not a dreadnought," Spock noted with his usual scrupulous honesty, as Kirk frowned again. "Perhaps not, then, the best ship in -"

"So you were frightened by Mr. Toad's Wild Ride," McCoy said, derailing the above.

Spock flicked a brow at that. "Perhaps that is an extreme characterization. I did experience a startlement that I believe has rarely been equaled in my experience."

Amanda was taken aback by this enough to be blunt. "You've been tortured by Klingons and you were more afraid of an amusement park ride?"

"So that's why you didn't want to stay on the shore leave planet." McCoy countered, trying again to turn the subject back to a safer conversation.

"I didn't say I was afraid," Spock said, frowning slightly. "Merely that I had been anticipating a situation of pleasurable interest and instead was rudely startled. In the context, it was an unexpected scenario to me, given I had never been on an amusement park ride before. I had not anticipated such a juxtaposition of occurrences."

"I suppose it is true that on Vulcan, fun does not equate with being scared," Amanda said dubiously. "For humans, it can be, provided they know that they're not really in any danger. Hence the witch coming out of the closet."

"It was not an entirely unpleasant sensation," Spock agreed. "I took the ride again -"

"Command types are all adrenalin junkies," McCoy noted with a raised brow to Amanda. "Even Vulcan ones."

"On the contrary, Doctor. To analyze my reaction. And to attempt to see the mechanism again more clearly."

"Of course," McCoy drawled.

"I was relatively new to Terra," Spock said in his defense. "In contrast, to answer your assertion," Spock said to his mother, "there was little to be startled about regarding my recent incarceration by Klingons. One expects to be ill-used and one is. A taxing experience for one's control. But more tedious than anything else."

"Tedious?" McCoy echoed. Amanda just looked stunned.

"In that one must endure and endure. But there is nothing startling in **that** requirement."

"You weren't frightened," McCoy said, tossing a quick glance to Jim to warn him to keep quiet.

Spock knitted his brows at this puzzle. "That would have been an indulgence, Doctor. It is the opposite of the amusement park situation. One can't allow oneself to feel anything in such a situation. Or react to the experience, or even, in some respects to be entirely present. Unless," his eyes were reminiscent, and his expression shadowed itself, "one's control breaks." He was clearly back in a moment, not present in the room.

"Did your control break?" McCoy asked, his voice following Spock's so smoothly and evenly it was as if it was a natural progression, and his eyes warning the others not to comment or interfere now that Spock was talking of his experience.

"Not where they could get to me," Spock answered darkly, a shade of emotion touching his words.

"You're **remembering**, Spock," McCoy said quietly.

There was a moment of silence.

Then the netpad Amanda had been carrying around, unattended by her as she stared worriedly at her son, slipped off her lap and fell to the floor, breaking off Spock's odd reminiscence. In a room full of humans, his were still the fastest reflexes there, however battered and fatigued. He caught it before it crashed down. He looked at it inadvertently, and then more fully, his eyes widening, before handing it back to Amanda with a self-consciously averted glance.

And the mood was broken. Suddenly the birdsong from the garden, the arcane dialogue from the film became more audible to them. Spock moved back to his seat from where he had risen to catch Amanda's netbook. "Am I?" Spock asked, his voice and expression more normal. "I don't think so. My memory still seems...fractured... to me."

"Did it hurt to remember?" McCoy asked. "You weren't rubbing your temples or your wrists as you have been when you talk or think about that experience. That looks like progress to me."

"I don't know," Spock said. He looked vaguely around the room, turning his gaze from the netbook in his mother's hands to their surroundings almost as if he disbelieved where he was before turning back to his mother. "My apologies. I didn't mean to discomfit you."

"If you can live through it, I guess I can bear to hear about it," she said. "Though your accounts of your time in Starfleet are usually well expurgated."

"Indeed. It was hardly a trip to Disneyworld," he said.

T'Jar came into the room to tell them lunch was ready before she could answer that. Given Spock's scheduled and very Vulcan meal would be largely unpalatable to her human guests, Amanda had decided to have T'Rueth prepare solely human foods for them, a change from the hybrid and jointly appealing menu combinations that usually covered her table. And the problem set in then.

The raspberries weren't ripe yet, but blackberries were. Fresh picked ones were on the table to adorn the blackberry shortcake intended for dessert. For lunch, there were the makings for salads and sandwiches. Seeing the blackberries, Spock forwent his intended nutritious but apparently boring, to him, Vulcan lunch, scanning and passing over it with supreme disinterest and disdain. Instead, he left the table briefly to forage in the kitchen.

Amanda raised a brow at that. But she didn't say a word as she watched him go through the door. McCoy had noticed she was scrupulously respectful of her Vulcan staff as regards their domains - except for the preplanned days when she scheduled herself in as sole possessor and unceremoniously kicked them out. Spock had no such scruples regardless of day. McCoy had geared himself to watch for such things, especially given Spock had expressed some ambivalence about his place in his home. But even regardless of Spock's inborn and trained good manners, and in spite of his stated doubts about his place on Vulcan and even in his home, to McCoy nothing said Spock regarded the Fortress - and the kitchen contents - as inviolately his as how he now went without hesitation or permission through the kitchen door very much as if it were home, Vulcan staff present or not, rooted through the stasis units and storage cupboards, and took exactly what he wanted, very much in possession. With a polite word to the resident staff as he did so, but with no suggestion of permission or apology. And they stood well back out of his way and let him. To that regard, McCoy hadn't really seen any Vulcan treat Spock much differently than they did Sarek, so far as that went. Spock didn't get quite the same degree of fall back obeisance Sarek seemed to generate in many Vulcans. But McCoy thought he was accorded a significant measure of reserve and respect, to which, oddly, he didn't seem to take much regard.

Having proved successful in his foraging, Spock came back to the table with a bowl of the mixed chopped cereal grains that was his favored breakfast, to which he liberally added blackberries. When his companions had finished their lunch, and moved onto the blackberry shortcake offered for dessert, Spock predictably shunned the cake in favor of a salad of lettuce, carrots, snap peas, sprouts and other raw human vegetables fresh picked from Amanda's gardens. He didn't spare a second glance for the purely Vulcan menu items Sivesh had dictated he eat for this meal.

Amanda glanced at McCoy, curious as to his reaction, though unwilling to address this potentially volatile subject with her son. McCoy just shook his head fractionally in agreement with her and kept his mouth shut.

"At least he's eating," she said to McCoy, hanging back at the table as Spock and Kirk moved out to work off lunch, claiming they were going to take Spock's sehlats for a walk.

"Take a communicator," McCoy advised, belatedly going to the door and calling after them. "And call me if you run into a lematya."

"You are my first choice, Doctor, when I need assistance in that vein," Spock answered dryly, the sehlats frisking at his heels.

"Smart ass," McCoy muttered as he returned to Amanda, but he was smiling, pleased to hear Spock tease back.

"Even if he didn't follow Sivesh's diet," Amanda continued as if uninterrupted.

"Hmm. And it's hard for me to tell if he's following Sivesh's plan for a little light exercise at this time, or just wants some fresh air after having been closeted all morning with the healer's examiners."

"Well, does it matter?" Amanda asked. "So long as he does it? And maybe it's wrong of me - Sarek might say so - but I am just **not** going to argue with him over deviating from Sivesh's diet. I learned long ago not to fuss over what he chooses to eat. Because you know how fast he can **stop** eating at the least little criticism? I do. He's been underweight his whole life, but now he's practically skeletal. I mean, it's the lesser of two evils, right?"

"Hey, they were all healthy choices," McCoy agreed, uneasy in turn. As the medical officer present, he might be said to be in charge of monitoring Spock's adherence – at least he suspected Sivesh and Sarek would consider him so - and he was shirking his duty in that regard. "And I do know. He is one picky eater. Under stress, he doesn't eat at all. I watched him go for weeks once on practically nothing when Jim was missing in an alternate dimension and Spock was calculating how to get him back. He wasn't nearly as skeletal then as he is now, but I still had to order him to eat."

"Did he actually do it?" Amanda asked, curious. "If so, I'm impressed. I had no idea military authority was so encompassing. It obviously supersedes parental authority."

"Well," McCoy admitted ruefully, "I'll confess that I've never been too successful at getting him to follow medical orders. Sometimes, if I grouse enough, he'll go along with me, especially if I can get Jim to back me up. But I can't honestly say he obeys."

"I thought so," Amanda said knowingly. "I've often wondered if I've spoiled him. Sarek always thought so."

"He's just hardheaded. But still, there's nothing wrong with fruit and cereal. It is one of his go-to meals when he's hungry and is so deep in some project he can't even spare a thought for what he wants to eat. I monitor his diet so I know. Though the fruit on board ship is usually dried or reconstituted unless we've recently put in at a port or something is ripe in hydroponics. I don't blame Spock for going for the berries. Starfleet officers - well our fabricators aren't bad, as such things go. But fresh food, fresh perishable fruit like that – from a Fleet point of view it'd be a crime to resist it. And heck, if there were anything seriously deficient between what he chose and what Sivesh wanted, there are always supplements."

"You mean like vitamins?" Amanda asked, astounded at this suggestion. "Pills? He won't take those."

"There are hyposprays."

"Supplements upset his stomach."

"I know, I know." McCoy groused. "Each hybrid is a law unto himself. And as hybrids go, Spock's a very functional one. Though he's so Vulcan dominant that he hardly deserves the name. But he does seem to have a somewhat delicate stomach, at least with regard to medications. He's always complaining my potions upset it. And while at times I've had to order him to eat, I've never tried to dictate what he chooses because I've never had a problem with his dietary choices. Jim, yes, sometimes I have to grouse at him to eat right or put him on a diet. But Spock never makes unhealthy choices - it's more a question of getting him to at all. I do think Sivesh has a point, in that some of his issues are related to deficiencies created during his captivity. And they're exacerbated when he doesn't keep up his caloric intake. We've seen the results of that when he skips a meal or two since he's been home. Emotionally and physically he sometimes just crashes when he's overtired or running on empty. He needs to build up more of a reserve to alleviate those symptoms. But so long as he is eating well, I don't have a problem with the menu he chooses."

"Except making his own choices screws up Sivesh's calculations."

McCoy just shrugged and held out his hands. "But what's more important? That he eats or that Sivesh gets his study results?"

"Are you asking me?" Amanda shook her head in frustration. "That's a question for Spock. Maybe for you and Jim, since you're interested in expediting his recovery in whatever way is possible. As his mother, I'm just happy when he eats something. I'll leave arguing with Sivesh – or Sarek - over study results to you."

McCoy shook his head at that. "Lucky me." He made a face at her look. "No, I know it's my job. I can see we're going to have a showdown over this. If Spock were willing, I'd go along with the study – I can't see that it hurts. But if he's not, why torture him making him follow a plan he's not comfortable with? Or put him under a microscope as some experimental subject? He's already been through enough."

"I doubt Sarek will understand in this," she warned him. "My husband's the opposite of a picky eater. No temperament, and no fussiness. When he's hungry, he doesn't much care what's around, so long as it's food. Though like all Vulcans, he's vegetarian by choice. I have this feeling he's going to take Spock's botching the study...well, amiss. It seems so logical and rational as an approach to investigating Spock's issues. And he wouldn't have a problem with the diet himself. So he won't understand why Spock chose differently."

"They are very different, aren't they?" McCoy mused. "At least in some respects. It's funny to me to hear you talk so casually about the differences between Sarek and Spock. I wouldn't think Spock would like to have any differences from his father; he tries so hard to be Vulcan."

"Just because he isn't entirely like Sarek in every respect doesn't mean those differences are unVulcan. Vulcans aren't cookie cutter androids, you know," Amanda said, partially offended.

"I guess so," McCoy said. "The differences are more apparent to you, though."

"Supposedly Spock is very like Sarek's father. I never met him, but apparently to T'Pau the similarities in temperament and aura are quite striking."

"Ah," McCoy said, nodding his head sagely. "One clue why Spock and Sarek sometimes clash."

"Maybe. One thing they share in common is that they are both stubborn. Very stubborn. And Spock can be," she bit her lip, "occasionally unpredictable."

"Like one minute he's a rules and regulations by the book Vulcan and the next minute he's hijacking a starship and risking the death penalty to do exactly what he wants."

She gave him a sharp, shocked look at his mentioning it. "Yes. We had heard about that. I suppose that's an extreme example, but..."

"So I gather it's not entirely aberrant behavior. For Spock, that is."

Amanda looked mulish in turn. "I don't know why it matters, now."

"You're the one who's said he can be unpredictable. Going off to Starfleet after quite a few years of behaving as a perfect Vulcan. Some of the things he's done in Fleet. And now, he's at a crossroads. We're not sure where he's going to jump. Except to know that he can jump, very abruptly and unexpectedly." McCoy eyed her. "Right?"

Amanda sighed and gave in. "Oh, when he's good, he's very, very good. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. The lightest suggestion is obeyed as an inviolate rule. He behaves as if he lives for rules. He lulls you into complacency. Angels would have nothing on him. He fooled Sarek for years."

"But, then," McCoy prompted.

"But there are devils' ears lurking under that angel halo," Amanda admitted. "When he's bad, he can be simply horrid. He will do exactly what he wants. Orders are disregarded. Rules don't apply. Discipline has no effect. This last session with Klingons aside, he usually can get around almost any supervision and almost can't be contained."

"Actually that **has** been a useful trait in his Fleet career. He and Jim have gotten rather expert at breaking out of various jails."

"I never imagined he was practicing those skills to that avail," Amanda said. "And who can blame him in those instances? But as with Chris Pike, there are others where he's absolutely unrepentant about doing wrong. Regardless of consequences."

McCoy thought back to Kirk's anguish then. "I think Jim would agree with you on that. On balance, he makes it worth it though. Right?"

"I roll with the punches better than Sarek," Amanda said. "I **know** Spock's no angel. Sarek simply can't understand why Spock won't do as he's told and obey him. It isn't logical. At least it's not a logic Sarek can appreciate."

"Oh, I don't know," McCoy said archly, raising a brow. "Sarek's obviously broken the rules at least once. When he married you for example. No doubt that was a logic T'Pau failed to understand."

"Maybe."

"Too close to see it, I expect," he mused.

"Spock is still considered young. He's supposed to take his elders' council still. But he refused and broke with Sarek. And much as I love my son, some of his actions," Amanda bit her lip, "hijacking Starships for example - I consider that for whatever good reason he did them, he's still a bit ...immature by Vulcan standards. Surely there was a better way."

"I don't know. The military can be pretty inviolate."

Amanda sighed. "But still - that's one reason why Sarek has been so strict with Spock. And why he has accused me of spoiling him. I did **try** at times to be stricter. But you can imagine how well that went over with Spock, me enforcing his father's rules."

"I can imagine," McCoy said, remembering Spock's comments on this.

Amanda shook her head. "The fact is, Spock was lavishly and painstakingly educated. He's very gifted and was trained accordingly."

"He worked hard for that," McCoy countered.

"No doubt. But with those gifts goes a responsibility. That's one reason Vulcan society believes young Vulcans need adult supervision through their first half century. They are physically almost mature, mentally very capable, but their emotional controls are still ...iffy. The fact that Spock can so easily manipulate systems, reprogram computers, use his strength or psi skills to take what he wants is no excuse to do so. You can imagine what he could do if he were immoral. Fortunately he isn't. He's never abused his abilities for direct personal gain, or has gotten into serious trouble."

"Well, he's always gotten off," McCoy said, thinking of his near brush with the death penalty. "Hijacking Starships, disobeying orders, comes with a bit more risk than disobeying his dad. But his stays in the brig have always been short-lived."

Amanda sighed."When he was very young and misbehaved I often wondered if all those Vulcan controls simply meant he was just going to be the most composed criminal in the lockup."

McCoy chuckled but turned serious. "One reason, maybe, why he was so inviolate about following regulations when Sarek was ill," he noted pointedly

Amanda made a face. "I wondered if you'd bring that up. Yes, Spock did throw that in my face."

"And then you slapped him."

She looked at McCoy. "He told you that? You are friends." She sighed a little. "Yes. I'm not proud of it. But I thought he was being particularly bratty, in his own supercilious Vulcan way, using Sarek's arguments against me. Spock was right that Sarek would have demanded he follow the rules. But Sarek's **life** was in the balance." She gave McCoy a stony look. "And I know he doesn't hesitate to break Starfleet regulations for his colleagues. He could have done it for his father."

"I imagine the double standard, from you, was just difficult. I wouldn't be too hard on him for that. He's still finding his way."

"I know. But by the standards of Sarek's society, he shouldn't be put in a position where he has so much license until he's learned discipline. Commanding a Starship, even part time, is perhaps a little too much license. Pike at least was something of a stable influence."

McCoy raised his brows at that. "And Jim's not?"

Amanda tilted her head. "Is he? He's younger than Spock. He has a definite reputation, good and bad, but perhaps not so good for Spock. I can see now they've become very good friends, almost perfect foils for each other's skills. But Jim **is** something of a wild card, isn't he?"

"He's actually a very disciplined and able Commander. Most of the time," McCoy conceded

"And Spock is very disciplined and able too. Most of the time. I worry a bit about what they could get into if they both were undisciplined and able at the **same** time."

"They'll start a war or take over the Federation."

Amanda shuddered. "Please, Leonard. That's not what I want to hear."

"You're worried which way Spock is going to jump?"

"I'm sure returning to Starfleet is his first choice. But if he can't go back to Fleet, I wish he would stay here, on Vulcan, and follow in Sarek's footsteps. At least give it a chance. Sarek isn't **wrong** you know."

"Maybe his methods just aren't entirely right for Spock."

Amanda looked vexed. "Oh, how would Spock have known, really? He was a schoolboy when he left. An innocent."

"Maybe Spock wanted to find out something more than what he could learn on Vulcan."

Amanda gave McCoy a look. "I **am** familiar with the argument, Doctor. And I respect that Spock has some rights. I helped him stay in Starfleet, at no little personal cost to myself when Sarek would have brought him home. But Spock also has family responsibilities too. He needs to regain his health now. But then it's past time he started planning to attend to them. If not now, then after this mission."

"That's a lot of pressure to put on him."

"If he's ready to con a ship, he ought to be ready for this. And it is pressure for Sarek, too," Amanda said. "He suffered a heart attack, and I think a good bit of that was concern over Spock." She frowned. "Don't get me wrong. I love my son. But I love my husband too. And Spock has had a long time to do exactly what he wants, using all the gifts he's inherited largely from his father."

"So according to you, now it's payback time?"

Amanda sighed and shook her head. "You make me sound mean. And I don't think I am. Or maybe I've just been on Vulcan too long. Longer than my son. Because what I see is the duty he needs to do, and has been neglecting."

"Not mean," McCoy said carefully. "But maybe too much pressure for him right now."

"What, so I have to worry about him haring off in some other irresponsible way?" Amanda asked, and then shook her head. "Forgive me. I'm just worried and I think I'm losing my temper because of it. And I've got to teach a class now," Amanda said, glancing at her watch and looking after where Spock and Jim had walked off into the gardens. "All those eager, brilliant young minds down at the VSA. And then T'Pau is demanding I see her. I suppose she wants an update. I hardly know what to tell her. Well it doesn't matter what I tell her. She'll know the truth anyway; it's impossible to keep anything from her. And I can't refuse."

"No, I bet you can't."

Amanda gave him a look at that, and gave him a grim smile. "I suppose it's silly of me to worry so far ahead. Spock's home for now. Presumably safe, fighting with lematyas aside. Somehow we'll work out the future. I just don't want him and Sarek derailing something much more critical by clashing over anything minor. Like this study thing. I don't think Sarek realized Spock never really agreed with it. And honestly, I don't think Spock really did agree."

"He nodded his head," McCoy agreed. "But I think he just did it to end the interview."

"And I don't really relish being in between them if they come to loggerheads. I'll confess I haven't always handled that as well as I should. I get emotional."

"Do you side with Sarek or Spock?"

"How to answer that?" Amanda said. "Sarek would say I side with Spock. Spock would probably say the opposite. Neither one are very happy with me when it's all over. And even less so with themselves. It hasn't been easy to be between them. Come to think of it, I'm never too happy with myself either."

"I wonder **you** haven't had a heart attack over it."

"Humans are tougher than we look. I certainly think we bend more than Vulcans can. At least, that's been my experience."

"You may be right. Well, being the medical man, I'll talk to Sarek if it comes to that."

"Well, you can **try**," Amanda said doubtfully. "Sarek can be very hardheaded too when it comes to Spock. And Spock can be equally stubborn about Sarek. They have this fixed idea of who they are, or the roles they are supposed to play. Neither one of them **are** those roles, entirely. But neither seems to want to give up that perception for reality." She looked anxiously after her son. "And as for Spock - he said some very odd things to me yesterday. I've come to realize he's not always, well, fully **present**. Not just a little absent, like he was with Sivesh, but actually seeing cell walls that weren't there. He came back right away when I tossed water on him, but still-"

"Jim will stay with him this afternoon. And if Spock goes berserk and Jim can't wrestle him to the ground, I'll be here, just in case, with my trusty hypospray."

"Good luck with that," Amanda said raising her brows.

"Or a pitcher of water."

"When you combine his nascent and trained abilities, with his not-entirely-there presence, it just **worries** me. I think in this instance, I agree with Sarek, and even Sivesh. At least for now, he does need supervision."

"I do understand that about Spock, very well. And so does Jim."

She nodded. "Starfleet was enough of an aberration. If he can't go back to that...well, who knows what he might take to, next?"

"Well, that's partly what I've been trying to figure. And I can't."

"Neither can I, yet. I doubt it will be teaching at the VSA, and attending Council, which is what his father expects. And he doesn't have a great track record for keeping family informed." She sighed. "Well, I'll be back in four hours, max. And I don't think he'll get into any trouble today. He's got to be tired from those tests and then a desert trek. It's the next few days that worry me."

She looked anxiously at her watch again, and then left to change.

McCoy snagged himself a cup of coffee and went back to his reports, sitting at the breakfast room table, waving a companionable goodbye as she went off a few minutes later. She looked very businesslike and professional. Only the faint line between her brows betrayed that she was hardly Vulcan sanguine under her apparent calm.

McCoy wondered how he had ever thought that Vulcans were entirely logical, unemotional beings. Those days seemed very long ago. Now it seemed, even in a Vulcan household, he was swimming in a sea of emotion.

_To be continued..._


	42. Chapter 42

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 42**

Perhaps it was the movie Kirk had been watching, but McCoy found himself thinking about hats that afternoon.

He'd watched Amanda wear a lot of them, figuratively speaking, in his time on Vulcan and with everything from suits to shorts to ball gowns. Wife and mother, teacher, manager of a very large and complex household, social hostess, political advisor. He thought it was a saving grace that she stayed very human though it all - someone who could sit barefoot in shorts with a selhat on her lap before going off to teach at the VSA. That she could be tough and even demanding McCoy thought perhaps might be necessary for survival in a household with two stubborn, critical and demanding Vulcans.

McCoy hadn't been entirely sure about Spock's parents when he first arrived. During the Babel mission, he'd been distracted enough by events, he didn't quite trust his memory. But the more he saw of Amanda at home on Vulcan, the more he liked her. The slap and sharp words she had given to Spock on the Babel mission had obviously been painful to Spock. It was clear Spock hadn't forgotten or excused them.

But for all he held a commission, McCoy was not a military man. He too found nearly impossible to understand choosing babysitting a starship, even one in a dangerous position, over saving even an estranged father's life. Saving any life. Spock had been in command. But supposing he'd gotten knocked on the head? The next junior officer in line would have easily stepped into command. Sulu, Uhura, Chekov, were all smart, hotshot capable young officers, eager to prove themselves. Not to mention Scotty, even if he stayed in Engineering to mind the engines. Many of these would command their own ships someday. That was why Starfleet had junior command officers. In the aspect of command, a First Officer was merely a designed-in redundancy.

But in the capability to save Sarek's life, there had been no redundancy. From that logic alone, McCoy thought it was obvious Spock should have found the right regulation to absent himself from Command for the duration of Sarek's surgery, even as inconveniently timed as it had been. But Spock had been too rigid to look for that solution.

And why had that been? Because with his father on board, he'd been trying to be superVulcan. That was a fault in his command style. In that mode would he have thought to bluff his way out of the situation as Jim had done? McCoy had seen him bluff at times. But at other times, he so rigidly followed rules he had trouble dealing with the unexpected - and for a starship in deep-space exploration, the unexpected was to be expected. Flexibility was more of a job requirement than a strict adherence to regulations or logic. Sometimes Spock balanced those well. At others he did it abysmally - in McCoy's estimation.

Which led McCoy back to the Vulcan Spock was emulating. Oddly, McCoy didn't think Sarek too shabby in that regard so far in his visit. Sarek seemed able to keep a large and varied constituency together, dealt with politics on Vulcan, had a large collection of beings as allies and friends. He had lived off-world on diplomatic assignments almost as much as he had been resident on Vulcan. And was husband to a very human woman. He might be Vulcan rigid in some respects, but in others, he at least had varying contacts and roles and associations. Though his relationship with his kid was obviously imperfect.

Sarek aside, McCoy wondered if maybe part of Spock's problem was that Starfleet had not been good for him. He'd stayed on the same ship, in largely the same position, Science officer, moving from Second to First Officer, for fourteen years, eleven of them under Chris Pike. He may have been flying around the galaxy, fighting dragons, but he'd done it largely under one entirely present Captain, one who had a reputation for mentoring his young officers very well. He'd lived all that time on one ship, within a strict military hierarchy, and with very limited associates.

McCoy had seen the checkerboard of Spock's school records. With parents constantly coming and going on diplomatic assignments, Spock had been shuttled constantly from home to residental school. McCoy couldn't fault Amanda wanting her son home when she and Sarek were home, but Spock's own life had been lived largely at the whim of Sarek's diplomatic schedule. He must have never been sure he would be living from one week to the next. Perhaps he had never lived so consistently in one place or stayed with one set of people as when he had joined Starfleet, and made his home first at the Academy. And then his fourteen year long stint on the _Enterprise_. In some respects, having so consistent a home on the _Enterprise_ may have been heaven for a somewhat lonely Vulcan who had never believed he belonged anywhere.

But McCoy doubted it was good for Spock. When Pike had been bumped upstairs, Starfleet had made the decision to scatter Pike's officers, except for Spock, who had stayed to give his new Captain an officer with familiarity of the Enterprise and Spock an experience with a new Captain. That relationship had not been trouble-free at first, largely due to Kirk's choice of Gary Mitchell as First.

But Spock had still lived in one spot, with one job, and largely one set of rules for far too long. And with a very limited set of associates – a handful of officers, a mere 430 person crew. McCoy had watched Amanda turn from task to task since he'd come to visit. Even Sarek had many roles. But Spock's home, professional roles and even friendships had lately all been based on one ship, and in an unvarying Starfleet hierarchy and very limited group of associates that didn't vary much. He'd had a fourteen year haven on the _Enterprise_, to make up for the fourteen years, past age three, when he'd been shuttled from home to boarding school back to home again. But living in one environment, with one set of rules, might be making him too rigid, too judgmental.

Or perhaps he had developed Starfleet skewed values. He'd hijacked a Starship and risked the death penalty merely to give Pike a happier convalescence. But then he wouldn't turn command over to another fully competent officer to save his father's life? McCoy could fully understand why, given Amanda must have known he had done the first, she had slapped him for refusing to do the second. Though it proved to McCoy that Spock's ties to his Starfleet family were much stronger than his ties to his Vulcan one. McCoy thought that wasn't ideal either. A job, even a career is temporary. Family is forever. And wouldn't Spock be an even better officer if he could incorporate the two? Find some more even keel from a rigid Starfleet or Vulcan rulebook to anarchy? Running to toss one life, one rulebook, away for another?

Stern adherence could come in handy in dealing with Klingon torture though. As it must have with a long, taxing Vulcan adolescence. But now that he was through this latest torture, would that trigger another abrupt switch? If Spock followed his patterns, it well could. If they didn't do something to help him deal with it.

McCoy couldn't tell. He had yet to fully understand Spock's relationship with Sarek, or what that meant for Spock. He wasn't sure that in some respects Sarek wasn't less rigid than his son. He had, after all, married a human women. And from what McCoy could deduce, he had done it for love. Perhaps it had been more Spock than Sarek?

In fact, what McCoy had regarded as Vulcan didacticism, a clinging to rules, might actually be more Spock than Vulcan. But McCoy hadn't been able to really read Sarek. The elder Vulcan and his motivations was a puzzle to McCoy. For all that he was such an allegedly fantastic diplomat, he could say the most ridiculous, almost offensive things. Still, McCoy had not found him intractable when he was appealed to with reason.

Perhaps it was just the language difference. McCoy rather thought that for all Sarek conversed very fluently in Federation standard, not unexpected given his wife was human, the elder Vulcan tended to think in his own language and translate accordingly. Perhaps he simply suffered in translation. Whereas McCoy suspected Spock thought in both languages, and perhaps more in Standard than in Vulcan. It might make all the difference.

His musing were interrupted when Jim and Spock returned home from their walk into the Forge. Jim went directly to the pool, and pausing only to gulp down some water and change into trunks. McCoy tailed after Kirk and watched him dive into it, but resisted the temptation himself.

"I wish this wasn't so warm," Kirk said sputtering. "But apart from that, it's wonderful. Come on in, Bones. You too, Spock."

"No, thank you," Spock said, with a perceptible shudder of distaste.

"I wonder that you dislike swimming so much," Kirk said, paddling water and tossing his wet cowlick, lightened by the Vulcan sun, out of his eyes. "I would have thought you'd have spent all your free time in here when you were a kid." He snorted water happily, a wet seal.

"Vulcan children do not have free time," Spock said. "And my father gave this as a gift to my mother after I left for Starfleet. So it was not here when I was a child."

"How can you never have had any free time?" Kirk objected, turnnig over and floating lazily, light gleaming on his wet limbs, the very picture of shore leave.

"Speaking of free time," McCoy interrupted. "I have a report for Starfleet, and given Spock is free for the moment, and doesn't plan to swim, now seems like a good time."

"I suppose it is unavoidable," Spock said.

"It is if you want to return to the Enterprise," McCoy said. "You stay here, Jim, or at least give us a couple of hours."

"You'll be okay?" Kirk said, turning back over, dog paddling, eyes alert. His was more statement than a question to Spock.

Spock nodded, and went off with McCoy. They settled back in Spock's workroom.

"What happened here?" McCoy asked, eyeing the communications console.

"I smashed it," Spock said.

"Well, I guess that guarantees our privacy," McCoy said, eyeing the twisted metal with some awe. "Now I know why Jim couldn't get you on the comm after that party."

"I had wished to be left alone."

"You know, I think these things come with a 'do not disturb'/take messages setting," McCoy said, settling into a chair. "Surprisingly, you don't have to smash them to turn them off."

"I was fatigued. I was not thinking clearly." Spock walked restlessly around the room, picking up and looking at the objects as if they were an exhibit of things belonging to someone else.

"You weren't thinking period. You reacted emotionally."

Spock looked at McCoy. "I don't believe you need to state the obvious, Doctor, except perhaps you relish having the opportunity to be offensive."

"I don't relish it, Spock," McCoy said. "I think that's a bit harsh. In fact, I've been more than easy on you. Your last mission was unfortunate, and you caught hell. But you've caught a bit of a break convalescing at home. We have gone easy on you. In a Fleet rehab center, the therapy, physical and otherwise, can be damn tough."

Spock looked away as if this were a threat. "My apologies. But I am at a loss to know our purpose. I still do not recall the events of my captivity. I cannot answer your questions or pass my reinstatement at this point. So why this interrogation?"

"Komack might be willing to give us more time, if we can present a good case. The question is do you want to do that?" McCoy said.

Spock appeared nonplussed at that, pausing in his restless survey, a tool he'd picked up forgotten in his hands. "Why would he do that?"

McCoy leaned back, watching him. "Well, obviously he thinks it might be of benefit to Fleet, to keep you on the Enterprise rather than put you on medical leave indefinitely."

"How much time?" Spock asked, intrigued.

"Maybe another week. If we present a good case."

"What is a good case?" Spock asked. He was, at least, not outwardly rejecting the notion.

"Well, for one thing, you'd have to be willing to return to the Enterprise. To serve out the mission. Is that something you want?" Seeing Spock looked ambivalent, he added, "It will take some hard work. You won't, for example, be able to smash consoles if you don't want to talk to a fellow officer or crewman. You have to be prepared for that."

Seeing Spock hesitate, McCoy added. "But that's later. For now, you don't have to be sure you **can** do it, Spock. You don't even have to be sure that you **want** to do it. All you have to be sure of, at this point, is that you aren't opposed to the prospect of returning. Because if you say that you are, that your Fleet career is over by your own preference, then you don't have to do anything more with me." When Spock still didn't answer, he said. "Suppose the last mission had never happened. If you were well, and healthy, would you still want to be on the Enterprise?"

"Yes, but-" Spock hesitated and shook his head dismissively.

"Suppose the last mission did happen, but you were well and healthy, what then?"

"How can I answer that?"

McCoy sat back, frustrated. "Spock, all I'm asking is what you want. If you tell me you want this, then we'll do everything we can, help you, push you, to get you there. If you don't, then why push and hassle you?" He waited a beat then said. "Your very lack of drive toward this tells me that you're simply not ready. There's no crime in that. You aren't even physically recovered. And you have to be at your best, physically, mentally, emotionally, before you take command of a starship and the lives on it."

"I'm not **in** Command."

"Your one heartbeat away from it. And you are very powerful Spock. Skill wise, you can lock the computers on the Enterprise in a way that no one can break. Physically you can overpower and take down any human, even several humans. When you get going, only a phaser blast or a hypospray can drop you. You know that. You're very much a force to be reckoned with. If I put you that close to command of a starship, I have to be sure you're ready for it." He paused. "For example, Sivesh suggested you engage in a new course of study, to test your memory and functioning. What do you think about that?"

Spock tilted his head fractionally in the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug.

"Well," McCoy said, raising a brow. "That tells me something.'

"And what might that be?" Spock asked, curious in spite of himself.

"I've never known you not to be willing to learn something new. And I imagine you are unlikely to have changed that much. Even more so than that you might become disenchanted with a Fleet military career. So if you are ambivalent about **that** plan, that tells me your issues are less to do with Fleet than that it is simply too soon for you." McCoy rose and plucked a book at random off a shelf and handed it to Spock. "Read this for me."

"I **have** read it." Spock said, peering at the title.

"Now. Aloud. Start anywhere. Though I suppose to be sure you aren't cheating, I should pick a book you are unfamiliar with. But I'll assume you won't cheat."

"How flattering of you," Spock said dryly. He opened the book at random and read a paragraph or two. He then looked at McCoy inquiringly.

"Keep going."

Spock frowned. He kept reading but as Amanda had noticed, after several pages a line furrowed between his brows and he began to falter. "Enough," he suddenly said, stormy again, setting the book down and closing it.

"What if I told you to read the whole thing before dinner and report back to me on it? Could you do it?"

Spock looked at the book and back to McCoy. "Why? You obviously have no interest in the subject."

"I'm trying to discern why you aren't reading. Are you just not interested? Does it stress you in some way? Or does it just seem pointless?"

"I don't know," Spock admitted. "After a few pages, I seem to become…very tired. The lines start to blur. I can't focus."

McCoy nodded. "Good. I'll put that in my report."

Spock started at that. "Why?"

"It's a physical symptom for Komack to latch onto. One that may be easy to test for if we can get you past that issue. If he's looking for a nice, non-psychological, concrete physical reason to give you more time, that's a perfect example."

Spock raised a brow at that. "It is a very minor aspect of my issues."

"I agree, but useful for Komack. I'm a medical man, but I'm used to dealing with these honchos, and this is something they can understand, where I can talk all day about post traumatic stress and their eyes glaze over."

"And what if he wishes to use it to prevent me from returning?"

"Spock, if you want to return, all you need to do is just pass your reinstatement tests. And if you do, Komack can't say much about your resuming your commission. He can ask for a second evaluating board, but that could be politically dangerous.

"Or politically expedient."

"Still, it wouldn't be an easy thing to deny you. And I think you can pass reinstatement, if you are willing to work to get there. The physical issues will plague you for a while. But I think the rest is a combination of post traumatic stress and, frankly, fatigue. We can work on getting you past the first, if you are willing. And I can try to get you some extra time. Komack didn't say no. I have your report mostly ready. But I sure could use an affirmative from you before I send it."

Spock rose restlessly again. His shoulders raised and lowered as if in a surreptitious sigh. "I know Jim wants it."

"Don't make this decision for Jim," McCoy warned. "That's a disservice to you both."

Spock looked down at the items on the worktable before him with an expression McCoy had seen before. He braced himself for one of those sweeping gestures Spock had been using of late, when things got too much for him. But instead Spock muttered, "I don't know why I didn't clear all this out years ago. They are an anachronism."

"They're your things. We all have things at home, that someday we plan to return to."

"I don't know," Spock muttered. "It seems very far away."

McCoy wasn't sure if he meant his Vulcan life or his Starfleet one. "Far or not, do you want to try for it?" McCoy hesitated. "Or are you thinking of doing something else?"

"Something else?"

"Well, teaching or-"

Spock shook his head fractionally, cutting McCoy off. "I hardly know what I know myself. My memory is faulty. At the moment I have no desire to teach."

_It's like pulling teeth_, McCoy thought, struggling to be patient. He could imagine what Jim would say if he were in the room, watching Spock seemingly unable to light on this issue and make a choice. McCoy decided to push a little.

"Maybe it would help to see the _Enterprise_? Scotty will have her functional day after tomorrow. He's going to do some limited in system trials, but then he and some of the yard crew are going to spend the two days after that, before final departure, in a short warp engine test, with an even sketchier skeleton crew than is now on board. And the rest of the crew is going to shoreleave on Vulcan while the yard crew takes her out. The nacelles are going to hook up with the saucer tomorrow. That's always a sight to see. You might want to visit her then. Seeing your old home, your own quarters again. That might make your decision easier."

"My decision?"

"Do you want to try to return to the _Enterprise_?"

Spock looked away.

McCoy bit his tongue, willing himself not to make any demands. "Do you want me to ask Komack for more time for you to make that decision?"

"How can I go back, how can I decide whether to go back if I can't remember?" Spock asked.

"Do you want more time to decide?" McCoy asked patiently.

"Obviously I need more time," Spock said a bit sharply. His eyes had narrowed, his brow had furrowed and he was obviously in a bit of a temper over being pushed even this much.

"Then I'll ask Komack for it," McCoy said. Jim would be cheered. But seeing how it was hardly an unqualified affirmative, McCoy could not be optimistic for him. Eyeing Spock's clenched hands he thought the Vulcan had made the decision somewhat unwillingly. He said easily, trying to smooth things over now they were past that, "Apart from time, you need to rest more. A little exercise is fine and good, but you still need to spend a hefty part of your day sleeping. And to that vein, I think you're supposed to be catching a nap before dinner, according to Sivesh's schedule. So I'll leave you to do that."

Spock looked mulish at that. "I don't like to sleep during the day."

"Do you have bad dreams?" McCoy asked.

"Vulcans don't dream."

"That's not an answer," McCoy said. "More like an evasion."

"I'll try," Spock said obscurely, evading further.

But he didn't. Fifteen minutes after McCoy left him, he was back downstairs, looking for everyone. Like a sheep dog herding its flock. Perhaps he didn't want to be alone in his room. During the day, with everyone else up and about, perhaps then it felt more like a cell.

After a couple of hours of swimming, Jim Kirk was ready for a respite from the Vulcan sun when he saw Spock was free. Amanda returned from the Academy, as he and Spock were walking in from the gardens. "Give me five minutes to change, and I'll join you for tea," she said.

She came down to join them in casual clothes, her hair down braided only in a long tail. Hearing doors and voices, McCoy came to join them, raising a brow at Spock, who studiously ignored him as if in doing so he would overlook that he was deviating from Sivesh's plan.

After tea, they moved from the breakfast room to the sitting room, all a bit tired from the labors of the day, a companionable group. Then Spock turned his head sharply to the doorway, in one of those abrupt predatory motions, senses honed. He must have discerned the identity of their arrival, for his shoulders had dropped even before Sarek walked through the door. Sarek came upon their casual tired little group with the force of a laser beam, bringing a blast of Vulcan purpose with him.

The elder Vulcan took in the room with one searchlight glance. McCoy had been tapping away at his reports. Amanda had her attention focused back on her netpad. Spock and Jim had a chessboard before them but it was more a pose, neither one was putting much effort into the game.

Sarek greeted his wife first, in an exchange so confidential McCoy could discern neither the words nor even the language, as if even in a public room they could create a bubble of privacy around them. But then Sarek focused abruptly on the netpad in her lap and his voice sharpened. "You are not finished?"

Everyone in the room jumped a little at that tone.

Except for Amanda, who answered unimpressed by this critical observation. "Half an hour. Before dinner certainly."

Sarek frowned at that, more thwarted than displeased. "You have been taking notes, surely."

Amanda looked a bit nonplussed. "Well, yes, but-"

Sarek steamrolled over that objection. "I will read them then, while you are finishing."

Amanda gave a little long-suffering sigh, but she tapped something on her netpad. "There. I saved it to your office computer."

"I will warn T'Rueth to hold dinner for an hour." Sarek turned for the door but then seemed to recall things other than work. He turned back to his son. sweeping him with that same critically evaluating gaze that seemed to dissect and sum up all its parts. "Are you not supposed to be resting now, before dinner?"

"I am not working," Spock countered.

"Sleeping," Sarek clarified. He let it go without pushing further. Perhaps that was leniency for him, though it was hard to tell if Spock regarded it as such, from his lowered gaze. Sarek then nodded politely to McCoy and Kirk. "I trust you gentlemen had a profitable afternoon," he said, and then left.

It was as if the walls exhaled their relief behind him.

"And he says Jim has a force of personality," McCoy noted dryly.

"Excuse me," Amanda said. McCoy suddenly noticed that the netpad she took with her, that she had in fact been carrying around all day, reading in snatches between other things, was no ordinary netpad. He blinked in slow surmise after the door closed behind her, feeling exceptionally slow on the uptake.

"That's a …" McCoy drawled and then stopped, not sure if he should continue.

"Federation blue book," Kirk finished. "Yeah, I noticed it earlier when she dropped it. I thought at first it might have been mine. But of course she couldn't read it if it was."

McCoy understood. A starship captain occasionally did receive high order directives from the Federation Council with Admiralty orders. They came in a retina scan encoded, high security data store colloquially called a blue book for its Federation of Planets Council cover and seal.

"Probably Abraxis," Kirk said. "You picked it up, Spock, when she dropped it. Was that it?"

"I could not say," Spock said in his most colorless neutral tone.

"You don't know or you-"

"I could not say," Spock said repressively.

Kirk shrugged as if this were proof enough, and looked at McCoy. "I told you. Abraxis."

McCoy thought about this new wrinkle and what it would mean for Spock if Sarek was importuned away. He thought he knew Vulcans well enough that if Sarek thought he had a duty to go, then go he would. He had after all been convinced to take a mission even with a serious heart condition. And Spock would expect nothing else, even though that left him alone, save for staff, in a situation where it simply wouldn't be right for him to be left alone.

"Well," Kirk said as if following McCoy's thoughts. "They're not at war yet. We probably have a few months before it gets to that." He looked at Spock. "**We** might be in it from the **other** side."

Spock didn't answer that.

They saw no more of Sarek and Amanda until they gathered for dinner. Spock tired quickly of chess, taking so long for the moves that Kirk was willing to abandon it, and the game went unfinished. Kirk checked in with Scotty about the next day's final inspection, with Spock listening into the call. Kirk flipped through the Stellarvision channels on the viewer, looking for something of interest.

"Stop there," Spock said suddenly as he went past a music broadcast. "I know that individual."

Kirk did a double take from Spock to the musician, who was beating a set of Terran drums in a frenzy. The music was loud. Hardly the Bach-like variations most Vulcans seemed to fancy. Kirk frowned. "You do? How?"

"When I was at the Academy," Spock said.

"He was a student?" Kirk asked, incredulously.

"No. A musician. I know the group as well."

Kirk looked at McCoy, shrugged his brows, but manipulated the remote and scrolled through the information. "It says they're playing at the Remora, here in Shihakr."

"Yes, I recognize the location," Spock said, still watching intently.

"Maybe we should take in a live performance?" Kirk offered politely. Though behind Spock's gaze riveted to the screen, Kirk made a face at McCoy that Spock entirely missed. McCoy shook his head reprovedly.

At that, Spock seemed to come back to himself. "It was a long time ago," he said, seeming tired even by the suggestion. But he kept the concert on, and watched and listened, head tilted.

"Not my kind of music," Kirk offered in commentary, a conversational gambit, wondering how Spock had come to know them. But Spock didn't take the bait or reply.

Amanda eventually popped her head into the room. "Dinner is ready," she said.

Everyone seemed as much tired as hungry. Sarek also seemed preoccupied, with a faint line between his brows, distracted by whatever concerns occupied him. They passed dishes around in a companionable, family like manner. It wasn't until everyone had satisfied the first edge of hunger, that Sarek seemed to turn his mind to family considerations.

"I spoke to Sivesh today, Spock. He related your initial test results, and their failure to provide a useful benchmark. He suggested that you embark on a course of study to provide useful data. Have you considered what course you will undertake?"

"No," Spock said in a tone that didn't lend itself to further examination.

"Indeed," Sarek said, undaunted by mere tone. "Silontaen is engaged in a promising new theory of astrophysics at the Academy. Perhaps you might find that interesting?"

"I don't know," Spock answered, unwilling to commit.

Sarek frowned anew. "I would have thought -" his gaze abruptly focused on Spock's plate, where Spock had once again made substitutions from the family meal in lieu of the Vulcan menu Sivesh had intended for him. "That surely is not on your diet." Sarek commented.

Spock froze with a serving utensil halfway to his plate, before putting it resolutely down. Amanda gave her husband a look that clearly semaphored he should not have said anything. Sarek turned to her, raising his brows, all Vulcan innocent. "But it is not-"

"It doesn't matter," Amanda said over his reply, glancing at her son. "I'm sure the important thing is that Spock eats."

"Sivesh's benchmarks require-" Sarek began but he didn't get to finish because Spock rose suddenly from the table.

"Excuse me," Spock said coldly controlled in spite of his abrupt move. He left the room.

"I **wish** you hadn't said that," Amanda said to her husband.

"Why not?" Sarek asked, when the door closed behind Spock. "If his memory is faulty, and he has forgotten, is it not our duty to-"

"He's just - It's not-" Amanda drew a breath. "I'm beginning to think Spock is not all that **interested** in Sivesh's theories. Or his regime."

"I'd better go after him-" Kirk said, when it became clear Spock was not coming back. He set his napkin aside and rose. "If he's upset - Well, we don't want him taking off alone into the Forge again. The after effects of that set him back quite a bit the last time he did it." He pushed back his chair.

There was a flash outside, as of a flyer going through the forcescreens.

"That was Spock," Kirk said, going to the window, astounded in spite of the evidence of his eyes. He turned back to the group. "He took his flyer."

"Why would he depart so precipitously?" Sarek asked.

Amanda sighed in sheer human frustration, and rubbed her forehead. "Maybe he went to get something to eat." She gave her husband a look. "Without an **argument**."

Sarek's brows rose in innocent surmise at this.

"Uh, I think you kind of blew it there, Sarek," McCoy said

Sarek frowned slightly, and Amanda just looked tired and mulish.

"Well we have an A.W.O.L., unpredictable and slightly ticked off Vulcan on the loose," McCoy said. "He's already used up the option of running away to sea. Where else would he go?"

Everyone looked around the table, clueless.

To be continued...


	43. Chapter 43

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 43**

"If necessary, his flyer can be tracked," Sarek said to Kirk. "As I did when **you** were in difficulties on the Forge."

"He didn't take the old flyer. He took the new one," Kirk pointed out. He looked both worried but also somewhat doubtful as if he should be. Given Spock's disinterest in the flyer up to date, he'd wondered if Spock was going to ever go anywhere except by foot, or even look at a control screen again. That he'd taken off in a flyer was almost welcome to him.

Sarek paused, nonplussed at this. "There is no automatic tracking function on that flyer." He looked at them all. "It's not a child's craft."

"With the warp sled on it," Kirk ventured, "he could go anywhere."

"He will not leave the atmosphere," Sarek said, as if his own force of will was sufficient for that restriction. "His usual habit-"

"He wasn't headed to the mountains," Kirk said. "He was headed in the direction of Shikahr."

"Like I said, maybe he went to get something to eat," Amanda said dryly. "Without an argument."

Sarek just gave her a look. "At this point, we can't be sure where he has gone. I could have the transponder on that craft tracked by the patrol-" he surmised. "I could have them intercept and prevent him from leaving the atmosphere."

"Only if you never want to see him again," Amanda said sharply. "He hasn't done anything wrong."

"His departure was emotional."

"Well, that isn't a crime," Amanda said, deadpan. "Not even on Vulcan. I don't think we need to go that far. If he doesn't show up by morning-"

"By then, he could be anywhere, Amanda," Sarek said. "In the Federation. Or beyond. Given his emotional state-"

"You **gave** him that warp sled craft," she countered, suddenly angry. "Mere impulse wasn't good enough, oh no -"

"Do you think lacking one would stop him?" Sarek replied back.

"Whoa, whoa. Let's just think through this," McCoy said, waving his hands. "Not fight. We didn't hear him go upstairs to his suite. He couldn't have taken anything with him," McCoy pointed out. "So he can't have gone too far. I agree with Sarek in that I doubt he's gone off planet. Not without a bit more preparation."

"Spock's pretty resourceful," Kirk said.

"But he also tends to plan when he makes that big a jump. And I saw no signs leading up to something like that. So let's just think Vulcan. Now, if he runs into some difficulty, how much of a problem is it that he went out of here without identification, a communicator on his person, or credits?"

"I don't think identification is going to be a problem most places on Vulcan. Certainly not if he went to Shikahr," Amanda said. "He's going to be known. To Vulcans, anyway."

"Shikahr is a pretty big city," Kirk said cautiously.

Amanda shrugged. "He'll be known."

"Are you saying that every Vulcan-"

"He has been to Council," Sarek said, frowning at Kirk in turn. "And Shikahr is **his** city."

"I'm sure he knows it well," Kirk said, exasperated. "But he hasn't lived here for years. And if he didn't take anything-"

"It is his city," Sarek repeated.

There was a pause, where McCoy and Kirk looked at each other. "I take it you aren't just meaning it's his hometown." McCoy said dryly.

"That too," Sarek said.

"Do you mean it's his personal..." Kirk looked from Sarek to Amanda, half reluctant to say it.

Sarek frowned, impatient at this cluelessness. "I thought Spock had explained to you. These are our family's lands."

One of Sarek's aides came to the room. "There is an urgent communiqué from the Federation Undersecretary."

"It never rains, but it pours," Amanda said, sitting back down in her chair. "Even here."

Sarek set his jaw, glancing at Amanda.

"Go take it. Head them off at least. If you don't, they'll be sending out emissaries," Amanda said. "See if you can remember the word _No_."

"The question more is if they will accept it," Sarek said. "I'll be back shortly."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Amanda sighed. "Back to Spock."

"Maybe just as well Sarek's out of here. Where do **you** think he might have gone?" McCoy asked. "In Shikahr, since that's where he was headed. To the Science Academy maybe, to look up old teachers? To see T'Pau, perhaps? She lives on the other side of the city. Does he have friends he might drop in on? Or old haunts?"

"I don't think he'll see his Grandmother if he was upset. He's never taken his troubles with Sarek to her, ever. He's at his most Vulcan with her." She frowned, considering. "As for the VSA, even before he finished his second degree there, I think the place bored him. He was just slogging through the motions till he was old enough to leave. I can't see him going there now."

"What about friends? Haunts?"

"In Vulcan society it is very impolite to drop in on a person's residence without giving notice. Vulcans just don't. He'd never do that either."

"Well, fewer and fewer options," McCoy said. "I suppose from a process of elimination aspect, that's good. But he must have gone somewhere. Where does he go when he's upset?"

"The Forge," Amanda said.

"But he didn't go there. What about haunts? Spock said Vulcan kids never have any free time. But surely once they get to be Academy-sized, they must hang out somewhere. Adolescents are the same everywhere."

Amanda's brows rose in surmise. "He was watching a performance earlier this afternoon, right? I saw a bit of it when I came in."

"That's right."

Amanda scribbled down a name and a set of coordinates. "You might check here. It's caters to young Vulcans - particularly the VSA crowd - it's not far from campus. Spock's familiar with it. It features live music. And food."

"Well, right now, that sounds like his kind of place. Particularly in his present mood."

"**If** you find him," Amanda said, "don't try to persuade him to come home before he's ready. He's entitled to a break from all of us. Just let us know, so I can head off Sarek from dredging the quadrant for him."

Kirk looked at the set of coordinates she'd scribbled on a scrap of paper, along with a name in Vulcan and human script. "I can't imagine Spock going to a …nightclub?"

Amanda looked at him, puzzled. "Why not? It's mostly Vulcans, so it's pretty innocent by Federation standards. But there are outworlders there as well to add a little spice. And it's very popular with VSA students. They listen to music, mostly outworlder groups. Debate the whichness of what. My students are always mentioning it. There are others, but this is the most popular. They have the biggest outworlder presence and the best music."

"It can't hurt to take a look-see," McCoy said, with a glance at Kirk. "Does it have a cover charge to get in? If he's without funds can he even get past the door?"

Amanda blinked at this. "I don't actually know. But Vulcan businesses seldom run on hard credits, even in the Terran Enclave zone. Retina scans, or palm or fingerprint readers would suffice to access his Vulcan accounts."

"Well, he'll be all right then."

Amanda bit her lip. "That's **if** he chooses to charge against them. He hasn't touched any of those funds since he left Vulcan eighteen years ago. But in the state he's in, he might not even think to remember that he stopped using them."

Halfway to the door, McCoy turned around. "Sarek cut him off to **that** extent?"

Amanda shook her head. "Spock would never have touched them anyway. You know how stubborn he is."

"What the hell did he live on when he was at the Academy?"

Amanda shrugged. "Starfleet standard issue. Summer jobs. Once he started working on Terra, he set up new accounts in Federation banks. I suppose he might have set up his id scans on Vulcan to reference those Federation accounts. But he was here so seldom I just don't know." She shook her head. "Either way, he could have access to both now. Sarek realized long ago that that was no way to force him home."

"But has Sarek even told him he uncut him off?" McCoy demanded.

"I don't know. I mean, it didn't matter really. Spock has his own funds now. And it's a delicate subject to settle. They have just started talking to each other again."

"Well, if he's going to settle **here**," McCoy said pointedly, "it is something of a material question. Even if he doesn't need or want them, he ought to know Sarek undid that."

"One thing at a time," Amanda said. "And Sarek is right. ShiKahr is Spock's city. For anyone who recognizes him, funds won't be a question."

McCoy shook his head. "This is a hell of a thing, Amanda."

"He had T'Pau and he had me," Amanda said. "He was never **that** cut off."

"Bones, we can deal with this later," Kirk said. "If he needs help or gets in trouble, or even needs funds, the flyer has communications. Right now, I think all we need to confirm is that he's on planet."

"He'll be all right," McCoy said. "And if he's there, we'll find him."

"He won't be there," Kirk countered as they headed out to take Amanda's flyer, McCoy flatly refusing to squeeze himself into Spock's little airfoil. "Can you imagine? Spock doesn't like rowdy crowds."

"Well, she said it was mostly Vulcans and some outworlders. So it's probably not that rowdy."

Kirk flew toward the coordinates Amanda had given them, looking down at the city lights sprawling below them, musing on what Amanda had said. "How the hell can anyone own a city this size, Bones?"

McCoy shrugged. "You own the land and-"

"It's practically feudal."

"Vulcan culture tends toward that." McCoy shook his head. "All I know is, I'm going to have a talk with Sarek when we get back."

Kirk spared him a glance from the controls. "Good luck with that," he said, his voice neutral.

xxx

Vulcan's Shikahr might not be the hottest location for nightlife. But it does have a nightlife. A lot of it is tourist oriented. But there's always a nightlife for the youth crowd. And in Shikahr this centered on an area that was almost equidistant between the VSA and the outworlder enclaves. Spock knew the area well, from his own student days. He'd taken two degrees at the VSA and turned down an instructorship there before leaving for Starfleet. True to what he had said to Kirk, he hadn't had much time for socializing. And with his secret plans for enrolling in Starfleet Academy on his eighteenth birthday, he had never risked attracting Sarek's too close supervision by indulging in activities that stretched what license he had. Still, he had visited this establishment occasionally.

But it had been many years ago. So after landing his flyer, he approached it rather diffidently, unsure of himself and his welcome.

It was still early enough the crowd was large but not yet packed as it would be later, when occupancy limits would dictate some would-be patrons would be turned away, and young adults would be coming in for an evening's entertainment. Now it mostly students coming in after VSA classes, catching a dinner meal as much as for the music.

"Well, if it isn't the not-Herbert," a half-familiar voice said as Spock paused at the entrance. A human would be adjusting his vision to the darkened lighting. Spock's eyes were bred to Vulcan's moonless nights. It was his hearing and his psionic shields that required a moment's bracing before he moved into the fray. The music's volume at this club wasn't as loud as at one for humans. But it was still loud for him, compromisingly between acceptable for the mixed crowd of Vulcans and aliens there. It was almost painful until he adjusted his metabolism. But it was the combined wallop of unshielded and uninhibited minds, some of them enhanced by euphorics, against his own sensitive and battered shields that kept him poised like a diver above a freezing pool, reluctant to make the plunge. He stood for a long moment in the back of the club, breathing shallowly, wondering if he were able to handle this. For long moments, he missed that someone was speaking to him, nattering in the background just under and over the music and crowd noise.

"Hey not-Herbert. Not-Herbert! Hey, man, I thought we reached. Not-Herbert. Hey, it was **Spock**, wasn't it man?"

At his name, the voice finally registered and Spock turned his gaze on the speaker. An outworlder of course. Any Vulcan would have realized from his behavior that he was adjusting his shields and left him alone until he was ready. He stared at the individual for a long moment before the face and memory clicked. "Tong…Rad, is it not?"

"That's right, man. Tongo for choice. What are you doing here? Thought you were flying around on that ship of yours."

"It wasn't my ship," Spock said, crossing over to him curiously.

Rad had cut his hair shorter, and let it go from vegetable-dyed lavender back to silver. He wore shoes on his feet now, a requirement for Vulcan when in the heat of the day, sand and pavements would be too hot to walk barefoot. But Rad wore not many more clothes than he had on the Enterprise, when he'd taunted Chekhov over his uniform. In the Vulcan heat, his skimpy attire was practical.

"But Shikahr is my city," Spock continued, looking over the young Catullan. "How have you come to be here? The last we left you," he frowned in memory, "you were to find another Eden, correct?"

Rad shrugged. "Never got the chance. Starfleet turned me over to my embassy, and they to my parents. Then I went through, well, sort of an intervention. After that, my father took an assignment here. I think mostly to get me away from certain elements. Though Catulla has joined the Federation, more or less provisionally. They've been siding with the Alliance lately. So our presence here isn't entirely because of me. And I've been continuing my studies at the VSA. My father's happy about that – he always wanted me to follow him further in his chosen field."

"I am familiar with those expectations," Spock said dryly.

"Man, I'm getting a crick in my neck looking up at you." Rad gestured to a chair. "Come, have a drink."

Spock hesitated, looking around vaguely. "Unfortunately, I seem to have come out without funds."

"You saved my life. I can stake you to a drink. And maybe a meal?" He eyed Spock's gaunt frame. "You look like you could use one, brother."

"That would be welcome. Thank you." Spock seated himself at Rad's table and turned to view the stage.

"No problem. As long as I keep up my studies, my father keeps me on a decent allowance." He snagged a pretty Tellurite waitress passing by, dressed only in a sarong with the club's logo. Her antenna were adorned with glitter. "I'll have a Kaferian cider –" he looked at Spock, "or two?" At Spock's nod, he said. "Two Kaferian ciders. Trillium leaves stuffed with kevas and triticale. And plomeek patties."

"That will do for me as well," Spock told the waitress, who veiled her eyes in Andorian assent. "I regret you have abandoned your quest," Spock said, turning to Rad. "I thought it seemed a worthy goal. You are not…angry," Spock ventured, "to have been derailed from it?"

Rad looked embarrassed. "Well, maybe not abandoned it. But I think I picked the wrong companions to go looking for it. Sevrin was crazy. I see that now. He nearly got all of us killed. You shipmates, but also my companions."

"Yes," Spock said, frowning slightly. "Now that you mention it, I do recall that."

"That was a bad scene, man. Sevrin even told me he was going to kill you all. Just before he set the acoustics. I **didn't** know beforehand. Didn't really believe him, even then. But I almost thought it was justified. That's how I was." Rad shook his head. "I could have spent the rest of my life in prison for murder. I can't say I'm sorry to have been brought to my senses."

"Well, perhaps with a less volatile leader," Spock said thoughtfully, "one with a more logical and less radical approach, you will eventually come back to it."

"Maybe. I miss Adam. And the girls. Can't say I miss Sevrin, now that my eyes are opened. And I don't mind continuing my post doc studies at the VSA. It's a good school." The waitress delivered their drinks.

"Your field was space studies, was it not?" Spock said, frowning, eyes half shut as he fought to get back the memories of that mission.

"Yeah. Hey, you okay?"

Spock opened his eyes and focused on his companion. "I'm well enough." He took a sip of his drink and drew a shaky breath. With some effort, he stilled the sudden trembling in his hands caused by his effort to remember.

"Look like you had a pain there, brother." Rad said, then shrugged and went back to himself. "I'm minoring in philosophy to keep up that interest. That department's not bad either. I wasn't sure I'd like Vulcan. Given I was sort of hijacked here."

"I can sympathize," Spock said wryly.

"I think Catulla politics aside, my father took this assignment because he thought I'd be safer on Vulcan from radical influences," Rad admitted. "But there are good people here. We reach."

"There are radical influences everywhere," Spock said. "Even on Vulcan. But I am pleased you are satisfied with your situation." Their meals arrived and they both fell to, Spock rather more avidly than he preferred to in public.

"Hey, Sanjean," Rad said, as a familiar figure walked by.

"Tongo," Sanjean said and then did a double-take. "And Spock. I wasn't expecting – well, I am pleased to see you out and about."

"I came to see the band," Spock said.

"Really," Sanjean said, with a raised brow for the current act, a schoolgirl trio of three Andorians, who sang in _acapella_ harmony while the crowd near the stage, a younger clientele befitting the early hour and the current performers, alternated between listening and jeering.

"Not **them**," Spock said. "The next act."

"Now they **are** good," Sanjean allowed.

"Join us," Rad said. He ordered himself another cider, raising a silver brow in inquiry to Spock.

Spock shook his head. Being Vulcan, he wasn't designed to need or consume large amounts of fluid and his glass was still half full. But he pushed his cleared plate away with a satisfied air.

"Want more?" Rad asked, nodding to Spock's plate.

"No, thank you," Spock said. "That was sufficient."

The schoolgirl group left the stage, to a mixture of traditional applause, table thumpings, flashing of table lights, and some catcalls. A backdrop rose to reveal the traditional instrument set for a rock band. Drums, keyboards, amps.

"Excuse me for a moment," Spock said and went wandering up to follow the Andorian girls into the green room.

"Are Andorian girls his type?" Rad asked idly.

"I don't think so. How have you come to know Spock?" Sanjean asked Rad.

Tongo had the grace to flush. "I met him on the _Enterprise_," he said. "In circumstances not to my advantage. Better days for him **then**, I suppose. Now he looks a little down on his luck and I'm the one who has it together."

"Down on his luck," Sanjean mused. "I suppose he has encountered some misfortune recently. I am not sure how luck plays into it."

"I suppose he has some resources here?" Rad asked curiously.

"Shikahr is his city," Sanjean agreed.

"He mentioned that. I suppose if he was born here, he has friends, relatives? Someone who can stake him to a meal and a bed? I mean, he seems rather …starved."

Sanjean looked at Rad a long moment, as if translating his words, striving to understand. "Oh. Well, he was born here. And his family is here too, of course. But when I said Shikahr was his city, I didn't mean that. I meant it is **his** city. "

Rad blinked at this. "He lives here."

Sanjean flicked a brow at that. "No, actually not. His home is outside the city proper, in the Llangon foothills, on the edge of the Llauresan range. So not quite in the city. He doesn't live here. It's just the city that is his."

"You mean, like he considers it his home even though he doesn't live here."

"No," Sanjean frowned. 'I mean the city is his. It belongs to him," he clarified.

Rad laughed. "You mean he owns it? Come on, man. He doesn't look like he owns a begging bowl. And he looks like he could use one. I just staked him to a meal."

"The city of Shikahr is traditionally gifted to the heir of Surak when he passes his – well, upon his fifth year of age. For his maintenance. It is part of his inheritance."

"You're serious?" Rad's eyes were wide. "Well, his rents sure don't look like they pay the bills, man. He looks starved."

"A matter of hostilities," Sanjean explained. "He was captured and tortured by Klingons during a recent mission. He is home to convalesce."

"Damn," Rad looked thoughtful. "Well, that explains the starved look."

"How odd," Sanjean said. "That you would think to offer him a meal. It would hardly occur to me. Like offering a glass of water to a man surrounded by a hundred fountains."

"But what if he didn't have the glass, man?" Rad asked.

"A material point," Sanjean concluded. "Logical."

"I am honored," Rad teased back.

Meanwhile, Spock stood at the entrance of the greenroom door, observing with a combination of interest and reminiscence.

The drummer Spock had seen on the video screen that afternoon, lean and spare, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth straightened up from bending over an amp. He did a double take and said, "Spock? It is you, isn't it?"

Spock nodded. "Yes, Richard."

The drummer turned to someone coming out of a fresher. "Chad, look who's here. It's Spock."

"No way, man. Hey, Junior!" a hefty black man enfolded Spock in a bear hug before he could react. "What you doing here?"

"I live here," Spock said. "Well, I did."

Richard cocked a brow, looking at Spock expectantly, as if in an old manner. "Hell, what's the time, man?"

"You have twelve point two minutes before the next set." Spock said automatically.

"Love, love, love that clock, man," Chad chuckled, shaking his head, face split with a big grin. "Missed it. We got a bit of time then. So what? You give up sailoring?"

"I'm on leave."

"But you gotta eat more, baby," Chad said, poking Spock's midsection. He settled back a bit, looking Spock over. "Look like I could break you in two like a matchstick."

"Yeah, give him half your food, man," Richard said, offering Spock a drag. "Then you might lose some weight."

"No, thank you," Spock said, rejecting the offered cigarette.

"Still a choirboy, eh?"

"Hey, leave Junior alone," Chad said. "Though if you gave him half your dope, you might stay on the beat for more than two measures."

"I can still beat you," Richard countered, but lazily and without rancor.

"I was surprised to see the group here," Spock said, lips twitching briefly at the familiar grousing between the band members.

"We're playing this circuit. Rigel, Altair, Weehounock, Rhemus 5. Vulcan. Good gig. Bread's good, anyway. Got another six months on the contract."

The other band members, lead guitarist Drew Cobb and bass player Finn McNeary came over and greeted Spock warmly.

"What's the crowd like?" Spock asked, another automatic question from the past, curious to see how a Vulcan crowd rated.

"First sets a little sparse." Drew said. "That lead-in schoolgirl group scares everyone away. But by the third set, the joint is jumping. Hey, you should play with us."

Spock flicked a brow, half amused. "You surely have no trouble finding a Vulcan lyrist here."

"Not on this circuit, no," McNeary agreed. "But rhythm guitar, second guitar, autoharp, acoustic, even backup keyboard aren't easy to find out here. You could do those. And we can always use a good electronics tech."

"Yeah, there's something wrong with my kick mike," Richard complained. "And I can't trace it."

"I can look at it," Spock offered.

"What's the clock, man?" Chad asked.

"Two point two minutes," Spock said.

"And we can sure use someone to keep us on the clock," Chad said. "You'll have to check his kick mike later. We're out of time now. Catch a set and we'll talk after the show. Or between sets."

"What the hell, man. He doesn't need to catch a set," Drew complained. "He sightreads clean."

"To sight-read, he'd have to have something to read. We don't have the sheets, man," Chad said. "They disappeared after Weehounock."

"The man has a point," Richard said, crushing his cigarette. "Don't think that I do have the sheets handy. They're packed away somewhere. I'll have to look for them. So catch a set and we'll talk."

Spock nodded absently.

"Later baby," Chad said, catching Spock's arm. "And **eat** something while you're listening. You look like you haven't eaten since we've last seen you."

The band headed out on stage and Spock went back to Tongo and Sanjean.

"You know these artists?" Sanjean asked.

"I did some work with them," Spock said remotely. "Many years ago."

"You performed? On stage?" Sanjean asked, a touch of incredulity marring his Vulcan calm.

"Not much. I was in StarFleet Academy. I couldn't tour. Sometimes in the summer. Mostly, I was a session musician."

"I'd have thought you'd work in astrophysics. Or computers. Your fields."

"I worked in those during the day," Spock clarified. "Weekdays. Evenings and weekends I did this," Spock nodded to the stage. "The recompense was better than my day job."

They watched the band in companionable silence for a while.

"They are good," Sanjean said.

"Oh, frack, it's **Herbert**," Rad said suddenly, shifting uncomfortably. "Captain Hard Lip himself."

Spock turned his gaze from the stage to see Kirk edge into the club, eyes narrowed, face set, on the prowl. He might have been walking into a Klingon cell block. Behind him, McCoy was looking around curiously.

"What's **he** doing here?" Rad complained.

"Looking for me I expect," Spock said, with a little sigh.

"Does Starfleet use press gangs to rope in its crew? Or what, are you A.W.O.L?"

"I suppose I could be considered A.W.O.L., if not officially. I walked out rather precipitously."

"Of Starfleet?"

Spock sighed again. "Of my father's house."

"Hey, man, we reach. But even my father doesn't keep that tight a rein on me," Rad said. "And I stole a cruiser."

"So did I," Spock muttered into his cider. "Twice."

"They haven't seen you," Rad said. "If you want, you can duck out-"

But Kirk suddenly turned with his usual preternatural awareness of Spock, homing in like a hunting dog on their location.

Whether he'd been half tempted to evade their notice for a second or two, Spock gave into the inevitable and half rose, nodding at Kirk to show himself in the darkened club.

Kirk came over. "Spock," his eyes fixated on Tong Rad and bugged a little. "Uh….uhm…. _One_, wasn't it?"

"I'm not into that scene right now," Rad said.

"Thank god for that," Kirk muttered.

"We weren't meaning to track you down, Spock. But we were a bit concerned," McCoy ventured.

"I understand, Doctor," Spock said.

"Oh, right," Rad said. "Dr. McCoy."

"I trust you've been okay, young Rad," McCoy queried, settling at the table. "No ill effects from the acid?"

"I'm fine, Doctor."

"Good." McCoy looked from Rad to Spock back to Rad. "So how'd you come to Vulcan, then?"

"My father's Ambassador here. And I'm studying at the VSA," Rad muttered, less comfortable with McCoy and Kirk than Spock.

"Small galaxy," McCoy said. "Right, Jim?" He looked up at Kirk. "Sit down, why don't you?"

Kirk was looking with a frown from Rad, who he was beginning to dismiss, to Spock whose gaze had drifted to the band now finishing their set. "You okay, Spock?"

"I understand why you were prevailed upon to come after me, Captain," Spock said remotely. "But as you see, I am quite well."

Chad came down from the stage and waded through the crowd to their table. "Hey, Junior! Richard found some sheets if you want to review them. And he still wants you to look at his kick mike. He's been tearing his hair out over it. And you know how he cultivates that frizz."

"Junior?" McCoy said, eyes bugging.

"You want to make something of it?" Chad asked, with a friendly but ungiving smile.

Spock made introductions. "I'll look at it." He rose.

"We can do some arranging. If you want, you can join us the last set," Chad said, as they walked away.

"We shall see," Spock said, rising. "And for your information, Doctor, I believe it is called a nickname."

"Junior?" McCoy repeated.

"He was just a babe in arms when he started sessioning with us. But whoo boy, he could sight-read any score note perfect on the first take." Chad said. "And play anything with a string or a keyboard."

"What do I tell your parents?" Kirk said.

"That I'll be home late," Spock tossed over his shoulder.

"We can wait," McCoy said. "I've never been to a nightclub on Vulcan. Might be …interesting. If not fun."

"I don't get this, Bones," Kirk frowned. "This whole scene is not Spock."

"How do **you** know?" Rad asked suddenly. "He was into Sevrin's group from way before you ever knew him. Researched the movement, Sevrin's life. He was into **us**, man. And the music scene – you heard Chad. He was sessioning and jamming back in his Academy days. Maybe **you're** the one who doesn't know Spock."

"We've all done things in our youth," Kirk's gaze roved pointedly over Rad's shorter hair and shod feet. "But we grow out of them."

"Maybe it's his ace in the hole," Rad said, and shoved back his chair. "Excuse me. I have a paper to write. And I suddenly don't like the company. **Herbert**."

Kirk drew a sharp breath, staring after Rad as he walked out of the club.

"I thought you were going to be a little less rigid in your thinking, Captain Sir," McCoy said. "You jumped all over that kid."

"He's damn lucky. That **kid** just happened to steal a space cruiser, which was subsequently destroyed, and was involved in a dangerous counter culture group. If it wasn't for his father being an Ambassador, he'd have been in jail for the theft alone."

"He does sound a bit like Spock, doesn't he?" McCoy said, smirking a bit.

Kirk blew out a breath, "Oh, Bones, don't be so simplistic. You're playing into this."

"Seems to me you're the one trying to make things more simplistic than they are. To classify Spock merely as a scientist and Starfleet Officer, rather than the more complex being that he has been and could be again. And you've forgotten Sevrin," McCoy said, serious again. "The cult leader? Spock did know all about him."

"He knows all about a lot of things. That's his job. That doesn't mean he's into them."

"Except he was into them. You were pretty down on that group."

"They were undisciplined, work-shy-"

"And you were grim at the Academy. Some of them **were** quite skilled as I recall. Tong Rad was very gifted. They took over the ship pretty quick. While you were pitching a fit about spoiled, entitled Ambassadors' sons-"

"I-" Kirk gave McCoy a startled look. "I didn't mean Spock. He'd know I could never mean him."

"Just saying. Spock knew the group. He had researched their leader. Their philosophy. He was into their type of music. He learned all that somewhere. And it wasn't in front of a library computer. And if you don't know that about Spock, maybe it's because given your attitude, he thought it best not to tell you."

"Or he left it behind."

"Maybe," McCoy said.

"What do **you** know?" Kirk accused.

McCoy just shook his head. "Not much more than you. But I am a pretty good observer, and I watched and listened. Spock's looking for acceptance. He settled on Starfleet. But he could have easily gone the other way, maybe, if Pike hadn't taken him under his wing. Not all Starship captains were keen on having an alien officer in their line of command. Some of his explorations into counter-culture may have just have been Vulcan curiosity. He was in for a penny to human ways, so might as well have been in for a pound. But he knew their lingo damn well, and that means he spent some time with them or a group like them at one point, years before. He sure spent time with this band. You might have known that if you had cared to. Sometimes, Jim, you can have a bit of a closed mind about things."

"I wasn't born with a silver spoon," Kirk said. "And I'm damn glad for the education and the opportunity Starfleet's afforded me. And I wouldn't have had it if I had lounged about-"

"Do you hear yourself?" McCoy asked. "I know Tarsus was bad. Your own personal nightmare that you strove hard to rise above. Starfleet was your ticket for that. But when did you get so judgmental? Can you see yourself from Spock's perspective?"

"You can't want him to get involved in this scene."

"It's my job not to have any wants, but to take my cues from Spock," McCoy said. "And he looks like he's happy at the prospect of playing some music with his old friends."

"Sarek will be livid."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But I don't see why that matters to anyone but Sarek and maybe Spock. Why do you care if he does?"

"It's one thing for Spock to depart from his Vulcan training to join Starfleet. Another for him to join up with some counterculture crazies."

"Sevrin's gone, Jim."

"There's always another one of these reactionaries popping up to cause trouble. And Spock's not himself."

"This is himself too."

"He could be easily influenced. His going up to play with those musicians, in his state -"

McCoy sighed. "First, they are musicians, not counterculture crazies. Second, it seems like they are old friends. Old co-workers. Third, Spock's always played for the crew and with various groups. He played with Sevrin's group too."

"And you saw what happened there," Kirk argued. "While he was playing, they took over the ship."

"That wasn't his fault. Security was lax. Your security was lax."

"Not by my choice. I would have thrown them in the brig if Fleet hadn't dictated I treat them as guests."

"Regardless, his parents had him musically trained, so I doubt they are going to fall over in shock if he actually plays here before a group of his Vulcan friends and associates, any more than they would have his playing before Starfleet friends and associates." McCoy pushed back his chair. "I'm going to get outside out of this noise and call Amanda. Let her know he's here and safe. Then I think I'm going to have a drink and enjoy the show. I think you could use a night out too, Jim. As Adam once said, 'Herbert, you are stiff!' So, relax a little. Or maybe, crabby as you are," he lowered his voice confidentially, "you need to get laid."

"I'll Herbert you," Kirk muttered. But he waved the waitress over to order a drink and found himself catching the eye of a pretty Orion girl. And after a moment, smiling invitingly.

_To be continued…_


	44. Chapter 44

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 44**

McCoy slipped out of the club. Under Vulcan's starlit night, he flipped open his communicator.

"He's here," he told Amanda.

He heard a soft exhale. "What a relief."

"You **were** worried."

"He's never stormed out of the house like that before. Even the night before he left for Starfleet, when he and Sarek had serious words, he stayed until the next morning."

"I guess that's reason enough to worry."

Even through the tinny speaker of the communicator, he heard her half laugh. "Standard non-directive counseling technique, Doctor. Your shrink hat is showing. Or do you feel more like a lion tamer, keeping all us big cats up on pedestals with a chair and a whip?"

"Now that you mention it," McCoy grinned.

"I just got my son back," Amanda said. "When he had been missing and presumed dead in Klingon hands. And my husband and my son are both speaking again **and** living relatively compatibly in the same house for the first time in eighteen years. So if you think I'm walking on eggs, as if I were a pregnant Caitan about to give birth to twelve kittens, you're right. I'm trying not to risk anything that changes the precarious count of my reconciled resident family from three to two." She paused. "I think Spock storming out of here scared Sarek too."

McCoy chuckled. "Well, maybe Sarek'll think twice next time."

A beat. "I wouldn't count on it. He's Vulcan."

"Well, I think a night out might be good for Spock. Vulcan or not. He can play a little music, blow off some steam."

"Somehow I never think of my very Vulcan son as needing to blow off steam. And what do you mean, play a little music?"

"I think we are all discovering bits and pieces of Spock he compartmentalized very well. Did you know that he used to play in a rock band?"

"He was a session musician," Amanda corrected him severely. "Some studio wanted a Vulcan lyrist and scouring Terra for all available Vulcans, contacted the Academy. He did a lot of session work after that. More in the summers than during the Academy term."

"Well, he first hooked up with some friends - Sanjean is here, and Tongo Rad, an old acquaintance. And he may play a set with this band here, who also appear to be old friends. Looks like he played with this group quite a bit. They call him _Junior_."

There was a long silence. Then Amanda said in a slightly different voice, "Oh, I would like to hear that. And see him play with them. But it's better if I don't."

"Why not?" McCoy asked frowning. "This is Spock too."

"Doctor, I am the wife of a diplomat. And you are a commissioned officer. Even if you're medical rather than tactical you're surely familiar with the concept of plausible deniability. I'll need it when I mention this to his father."

"Ah," McCoy chuckled. "Now I understand."

"Did he eat something?"

"Yes, Mother," McCoy teased. "I think Rad staked him to a meal."

"Good," she said. Then she hesitated. "Rad - You don't mean that **Tong** Rad? The son of the Catullan Ambassador?" He could hear the frowning shock in her voice.

"Yep."

"The one whose father practically remanded him to Vulcan after charges were conveniently made to go away for grand larceny, attempted murder, and various other crimes?"

"That's him," McCoy said cheerfully. "Nice kid. Reminds me a bit of Spock."

Amanda sighed again. "Oh, my. I think plausible deniability is getting a workout here. And Sarek might be right. Maybe he **should** choose his son's friends. I'm no great fan of Tong Rad."

"Now, now. What's a little starship theft among friends? And thieves?"

"I'm not going to tell Sarek this," she said decisively. "Just that he's been found and will come home later."

"Quite a **bit** later. He went off with this band. And in addition to maybe playing a set or two, they want him to look at their electronics."

"It's not like he's twelve years old and has a curfew," Amanda said. "So long as he does plan to return."

"Amanda. Sarek does realize Spock's past his micromanaging?"

"I don't know about that. Vulcan concern can be rather smothering. With Spock not entirely well..." He heard her sigh a little. "I'll just let Sarek know he's in the city. And if more detail is necessary, that he met up with some old colleagues from his session musician days. He's probably bound to hear something about this. Vulcan is not a small planet, but Spock is pretty well known. But I'm saying nothing about rock bands and Tong Rad." She paused a minute. "How's Jim? Is he a music fan, or is he pacing and counting the hours till he can shanghai him back to the _Enterprise_?"

"Come to think of it, I don't think he has had much to do with Spock's shipboard concerts in the past. Maybe not his kind of music. Anyway, I left him flirting with an Orion girl."

"Well, **he's** all right then," Amanda said. "Sounds like you all are going to have a fun night. While **I'm** stuck here about to be quizzed on human interpretations of Abraxis positions by a Vulcan tyrant." She sounded put out by that.

"You could run away too," McCoy suggested. "And join us."

"Plausible deniability," she reminded him. "Anyway, you've got my flyer. But with the house empty of guests and children for the first time in days, once we have spent sufficient time on Abraxis, maybe **I'll** do a little flirting."

"Good thing we're staying out late then," McCoy teased back.

When McCoy got back to the club, Jim had gotten up too, and switched tables to the Orion girl's. They were rising from it to dance. She didn't look like she understood much Standard. But with Orions, words were very much a secondary communication skill.

Sanjean had also tablehopped and was off chatting with some Vulcans. McCoy's original table had been cleared and commandeered by three Tellurites. He wasn't going to try to claim it back from them.

The club was crowded now. The clientele had shifted from Academy students to a denser and more diverse evening crowd, louder and rowdier, half non-Vulcans. In spite of a constantly humming air recycler, the air was acrid, sharp with a euphorics and a tinge of alien sweat.

McCoy stood at the back for a while, observing and listening. In the break between one crashing song and the next, McCoy snagged a passing waitress and ordered a Saurian Brandy, who in spite of her Rigelian ears, had to strain to hear him over the subdued roar of the crowd.

On stage, the drummer raised his sticks over his head, and clapped them loudly together, setting the beat for the band's next song over the crowd's cheers and noise, calling out _one, two, three, four._ And then their music crashed over the crowd like a wave.

And McCoy could see near the drummer, Spock had found a guitar and joined the group. He didn't have a spotlight on him as the regular band members did, and the club was dark and smoky. But the stage was small enough that he was clearly visible in the spill of the other lighting. He was playing rhythm to the lead guitarist, eyes on Drew across from him, shoulders down as if leaning back on the waves of music coming from Chad's keyboard behind him, head tilted to the beat of the drums just to his left. McCoy watched while Spock closed his eyes as if he were totally immersed in the music, wholly unaware of the crowd and the noise.

McCoy noted that unless there was a screen in the bulkhead above the musicians heads, he was playing by rote, having absorbed the 'sheets' in one apparent review. Spock's comprehension and eidetic memory apparently had no problems with that kind of data.

By the next song, the lighting techs had adjusted to the group's addition, and Spock had his own subdued lighting spot, illuminating him for the crowd. There were a few calls of his name. Spock looked blindly out in the direction of the calls, nodding absently in acknowledgement, but not missing a beat.

McCoy watched him with a mild uncomplicated interest, sipping his brandy, taking his own night off. He was pleased at this sign of Spock's recovery, but not thinking of much else. With the next song, Spock traded the acoustic guitar for an electric one. He was playing a complicated rhythm scheme with the lead guitarist. Sometimes Drew picked up and gathered the answering band after his phrase. Sometimes Spock did.

And then McCoy saw something that made him straighten up, his back against the wall. When it came to his turn, Spock didn't just answer the lead guitarist and let the band follow him. He looked around to the group, a glance over his left shoulder, a glance over his right. Gathering them almost palpably. And as the band crashed into the chorus, the band somehow played as if welded into one coherent unit, playing with renewed vigor.

McCoy set down his emptied glass on a convenient tray and walked over to Jim, interrupting his swaying dance with the Orion girl. Neither one of them were moving so much to the music as to a private rhythm of their own. McCoy had to speak directly in his ear to be heard over the noise. "Hey, Jim." He gestured to Spock.

Kirk raised his head, blinking as if he had half forgotten McCoy was there. Or where he was. He looked through the gloom to the bubble of light on stage, following McCoy's pointing finger. Spock and the lead guitarist were playing alternate phrases, with the keyboardist rippling between them, weaving them together. Spock's head was down at the moment, concentrating on his fingering.

Playing was probably something of a physical challenge for him, even if not a mental one, given he still had some residual numbness in his fingers from the effects of the restraints cutting into his wrists. But his shoulders were still relaxed and he looked entirely caught up in the music. The drummer was beating away in a frenzied, complicated riff that McCoy could feel in his eardrums. He wondered how the Vulcans were withstanding it.

Most of the aliens and even some of the Vulcans in the audience had risen from their seats and were giving the band a solid back-clap, the more uninhibited of the alien patrons dancing in place. The Vulcans were fascinated by the aliens' behavior, perhaps here as much for the outworlder experience as for the music.

Spock went into a complicated guitar solo, cheered on by Chad yelling "Go, Junior!"

Then Spock did what McCoy had seen and brought him over to Jim. That glance from left to right, a cut of his eyes to the drummer, gathering and welding them back into a group, a solid unit, as the band joined and followed him into the chorus. Almost a taking of command.

McCoy felt Kirk stiffen beside him. And he knew Kirk had seen what he had in that moment. That harmony, the attunement among the group that had nothing to do with music. That was personal, even emotional. Kirk had it with his command team. He had it with Spock. It was a phenomenon that McCoy thought made Jim an exceptionally able commander, that ability to gather and weld a group into one coherent whole.

Spock sometimes had it when he took Command. He could do it. But he didn't tend to, often keeping a wall up between him and his fellow officers, except for the rare times when he unbent. McCoy had thought it had been something he'd learned from Jim. Even perhaps, preening himself a little, that it might have been something the rigid Vulcan had managed after a certain human physician had broken down a few walls.

But he'd been wrong. Spock had possessed it before. Perhaps it was the military nature of the Enterprise that he resisted it on the _Enterprise_. Or the fact that as a senior officer he was responsible for his juniors. Perhaps it was the scientific nature of many of his duties, or his responsibilities. Or that everyone there largely expected him to be Vulcan and act Vulcan most of the time.

But with this group there was no hierarchy. Obviously no one cared that he was Vulcan or what being Vulcan meant. All that mattered at the moment was playing the music. Together.

Maybe he had been involved in that counter-culture group a little more than anyone had guessed.

McCoy half wondered why Spock had even left this unity for a career in Fleet. Well, perhaps for a scientist and a Vulcan, even this kind of emotional resonance wasn't enough. Perhaps he still felt alien in spite of it.

But it was hard to believe that. Caught up in the moment as they played together in a unity that was almost palpable, the human members of the band grinned and cheered. And Spock narrowed his eyes, half amused but with a little half smile teasing his lips, that he allowed himself during moments when he really unbent.

And Kirk watched, face set and neutral, oddly at his most controlled when Spock was the opposite. Only his eyes betrayed the wound.

The group ended the song to a roar of audience applause. Before the crowd could settle, the drummer yelled out the name of the next song, setting the beat on his sticks, raised above his head, crashing together. And band set off again.

"They're good," Kirk finally allowed to the expectant McCoy, eyes roving from the band to his First Officer. "Spock, too. But come on, Bones. I'd be surprised if he wasn't." His voice was even. Neutral. "He can play a computer like a virtuoso, why not a musical instrument? He's been trained in music well enough to have been able to recognize Brahms' notation."

"Not sure if you've noticed, but he's not playing Brahms. Or Bach, for that matter. They're really jamming."

Kirk shrugged. "But I've heard Spock play before. Accompany Uhura when she was singing some fairly risqué stuff. I'm sure he can play **anything**. But this is not really my kind of music."

"He looks relaxed. Happy." McCoy waited then said. "Come on, Jim, I know you're seeing what I'm seeing."

Kirk didn't answer.

The lead guitarist was playing a bodacious riff, almost as if in a challenge. Not missing a beat, Spock was answering back, as matter of fact as if they were holding a conversation. The non-Vulcan part of the crowd was going wild. The Vulcan part of it looked to be fascinated by the spectacle.

"You can see the wheels turning in their heads," McCoy said to Kirk, pointing out a few wide-eyed Vulcans enthralled by the crowd's emotional surge.

Kirk spared them a glance, but then his gaze went back to Spock and he shook his head.

"What?" McCoy asked.

"I'd be happier if I knew this was just shore leave."

"It is shore leave."

"**Just** shore leave."

"Jim, can't you take a night off and worry tomorrow?"

"I've got a ship preparing to go out on space trials tomorrow. And I'm short an officer." His voice sharpened. "No, wait. I'm short **two**."

"Those trials are just with the yard crew and Scotty. A minimal staff only for an engine test after a refit as complex as that. Spock would never be allowed to go on that anyway. It's a dockyard/engineer thing."

"Still, I wish he'd try getting back to the Enterprise as hard as he is doing this," Kirk nodded at the stage. "He hasn't even been back on board yet."

"Jim." McCoy shook his head.

"Who knows," Kirk argued, "it might just make those memories click."

"He indicated he might go tomorrow before the trials. But don't get your hopes up for a miracle cure, Jim. I doubt it's that simplistic."

"And he didn't give Sivesh's suggestion a fair trial." Kirk shook his head again. "I get that he doesn't like the regime. I understand. I would never ask him to do anything he wasn't ready for. But Bones, you can't expect me to be **happy** at the prospect of leaving him on Vulcan. The whole point of this was to work together to get him well. Everyone is trying but him. What's **wrong** with him, Bones?"

"You can't really know how hard he's trying. Do you want to know what most mind-sifter victims look like, the few that we've managed to rescue? For one thing most die. As for the rest - he's not curled up in a ball in the corner of a room, non-verbal and interminably insane. He may have only fought with his mind, but he did resist."

"I just want him well, Bones."

"Jim, he is doing very well. And he may get well, and **still** choose not to go back to Fleet."

"That's not **well**."

"Events can change people, Jim. Weren't you changed by Tarsus? Didn't it change you from a slightly wild teenager to a grim Fleet cadet? And you're still a little grim at times, particularly when you're thwarted. And you don't have much appreciation for the slightly wild types anymore. Unless on your own terms. What, do you think there's a Tarsus waiting for anyone who indulges in a little too much license? Some kind of cosmic punishment?"

"You know that's not true, Bones. And don't headshrink me. I'm not your patient now."

McCoy leaned in to drive his point home. "Maybe it's just a **little** true, Jim."

The Orion girl, bored with this contentious talk, mewed and tugged at Kirk's arm. She jerked her head to the crowd, making it very clear if he wasn't going to pay attention to her, she'd find someone who would.

"I'm going to take your earlier advice, Bones," Kirk said with a significant glance to the girl. "**And** Spock's flyer. When this is over, you and he can go back to the Fortress in Amanda's."

"Your girl's not going to care if you have a flashy aircar."

"Maybe not, but I may spend the night on the _Enterprise_, check in with Scotty in person, help him get ready for trials tomorrow."

"He won't need your help."

"Maybe **I** need a break, Bones. And I think it's just as well Spock doesn't have a warp sled right now."

"You might be right on that. Though I think he was never considering going off planet."

Kirk's mouth tensed as if he didn't quite like the sound of that. "Whatever."

McCoy caught his arm, "You don't want to tell Spock yourself?"

"He's busy," Kirk said, with a glance for the stage. He put his arm back around the Orion girl and they made their way out.

McCoy glanced up at the stage. And even through the distractions, crowds of people and the smoke and outgassing from a hundred euphorics, he could see that Spock, in spite of his attunement with his present group, with his preternatural awareness of Kirk, the same as Kirk's for him, looked up from his playing to watch somberly as Kirk walked out the door.

_To be continued..._


	45. Chapter 45

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 45**

Much later in the evening, McCoy found himself prodded by a Gorn. His head was muddled. He'd been more than half asleep. The Gorn was large. It took McCoy more than a minute, first to open his eyes, then as he gaped at the Gorn in a panic, to remember that he was in a Vulcan night club and not an oddly furnished prison. The Gorn pointed emphatically to the door, where the last few stragglers were filing out. The stage was empty. The only sounds filling the air were the _shooping_ whines of robo-vacs, spraying a cleansing mist through the air and onto surfaces and sucking it up, zapping the cleaned surface with an ultraviolet light behind them.

The Gorn was brooking no denial, wordlessly pointing out that he was soon to be in the way of the robots.

"I'm waiting for someone," McCoy said to the Gorn.

It gave no sign of understanding him. But the Gorn went away and came back with a Vulcan: older, precise, clearly in charge. "We are closing, gentle sir," the Vulcan said tiredly, as if he was used to dealing with drunk and comatose clients. The Gorn stood emphatically behind him, ready to enforce his edicts.

"I'm waiting for someone," McCoy repeated, rubbing his eyes and struggling to wake up.

The Gorn growled at this old news, and hissed indignantly to the Vulcan.

"But that is illogical. You are the last, gentle sir." The Vulcan gestured to the empty club. "As my colleague indicates. There is no one else here for whom to wait."

"Well, he's probably in the back, packing up with the band," McCoy gestured to the stage door and rose stiffly as if to step toward it.

The Vulcan moved to intercept him. "We don't allow patrons to importune our talent after closing, gentle sir. I must ask you to leave."

"Look, I came here with Spock," McCoy said, exasperated.

"You did not," the Vulcan claimed. He raised a brow emphatically. McCoy realized there probably had been a scanner on the entrance.

"Well, I didn't exactly come with him," McCoy admitted "But I followed him."

"Indeed," the Vulcan raised a brow, as if this proved he was the worst kind of predatory stalker.

"I didn't mean that. Look, I'm his frigging ride home. I'm staying at his house, with him and his parents." Seeing the Vulcan was far from convinced, he said, trying to stress his legitimacy with a bit of name dropping. "Sarek and Amanda. And I had dinner with them and his Grandmother T'Pau last week."

"Those names are public record," the Vulcan commented. "Even tourists are familiar with them. I might as well say I dined with Surak."

"Except he's been dead for 5000 years," McCoy retorted. "Look, just **ask** Spock. He'll tell you."

The Vulcan looked McCoy over doubtfully as if very much regretting the necessity, but conceding to it. "And your name, gentle sir?"

"Leonard McCoy," McCoy said, getting angrier by the second. "And you can tell that pointed hobgoblin that Jim took his flyer, so if he doesn't want a long walk back home, he'd damn well better come with me."

The Vulcan simply raised a brow and left. McCoy moved as if to follow, but the Gorn stood before him with a threatening grunt.

"I've got a hypospray in my pocket that would fell you like a tree," McCoy muttered. "And if I had **my** choice, when you toppled, you'd fall on your Vulcan minder there."

The Vulcan didn't reappear, but the drummer came to the stage and called, "Hey, come on back. Watch those wires, man," he added, as McCoy gave the Gorn bouncer a _take that_ look before venturing across the stage. The Gorn hissed, his forked tongue flicking out over McCoy's shoulder in tacit insult.

He found Spock predictably so deep in a technical problem that time had lost all meaning for him: sitting on the floor with an amp and a confusing array of electronics spread out, with a tool kit at his side.

"It is the C4 sensor," Spock finally said, looking up at the drummer, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. "Do you have a replacement?"

"Shit. C4, C4." Richard opened up a box of drum parts, tuning keys, spare hoops, rims, tension rods, clamps and such, and found a smaller box of electronic parts for his mikes. "C2, C6, **here** it is." He handed it over.

Spock replaced the part, reassembled the device and took it out to the stage to test it. The crashing beat of drums, in McCoy's weary state, made him put his hands to his ears and groan. "How much longer are you going to be, Spock? I've had enough of this for tonight."

Spock came back in, looking at him curiously. "I am surprised you are still here, Doctor. I didn't know you were so much an aficionado of this type of music."

McCoy rubbed an ache in the small of his back, a legacy of him falling asleep at his table now and of years bent over an operating table. "Well, I figured you wouldn't care to walk home."

"We're about to go out for some dinner, man," Richard said to Spock and McCoy both. "You're welcome to join us."

"It's - " McCoy checked his chronometer. "Four a.m. - the sun'll be up in two hours."

"That's when we go to bed. When you play all night-"

"I don't know," McCoy said, rubbing his stubbly jaw. "Spock? I think we should consider calling it a night."

"I think perhaps another time," Spock said, eyeing McCoy's haggard face.

"Tomorrow night?" Richard asked, giving Spock a significant look.

"There is a distinct possibility other duties might take precedence," Spock said, giving McCoy a guilty glance.

"Well, you take care, Junior," Chad said, hugging Spock tight. He stepped back and fixed the Vulcan with a look. "And screw those other duties. Come back here when you can, or where ever we are, and we'll play us some music."

"If I can," Spock said, acknowledging the other's farewells. "Doctor?"

They went out the stage door into a Vulcan night alive with the sounds of wildlife from the edge of the city. After the fug of the club, the air was crisp and cool and the stars were very bright. That helped clear McCoy's sleep muddled brain, but he still stumbled as he walked to Amanda's aircar. Spock caught his elbow automatically before he took a nose dive into the sand.

"Thanks," McCoy muttered. "I'm dead on my feet."

"No matter. I will fly."

"I won't argue with you on that. I probably couldn't pilot this damn thing anyway. There's not a Standard readout on the panel."

They got in and the control panel said brightly, "Good morning, Amanda. You have twelve items on your schedule today. Item one -"

"Ouch," McCoy groaned at the overly cheerful voice. "Turn that damn thing off."

Spock cut off the reminder.

"Sorry about Jim snatching yours, Spock," McCoy said.

Spock glanced at him, raising a brow. "It's logical, Doctor. My mother will definitely want hers this morning. And if he is tied up on the Enterprise, he will not have to return merely for that. Plus this craft is really too slow for expeditious exo-atmospheric travel. And I still have my old flyer for personal use, should I need one."

"Why'd you take the warp flyer then, for such a short hop across the city? We're you thinking maybe of going farther?"

Spock hesitated, and confessed. "In truth, when I left I had no idea where I was going. And so I took the most versatile vehicle available to me. It wasn't until I was over Shikahr that I made a decision as to a destination."

McCoy rubbed his forehead and considered that it was a good thing for all of them that Spock had seen the concert on-screen earlier, giving him a reason to go where he had. Or they might have had to look a long way further for him.

Spock was silent as the aircar lifted off and he put them in an arc over the city. Soon they were passing the hard packed desert sands that stretched between Shikahr and the foothills. Then the Llangon mountains and the Fortress rose up before them. Spock navigated through the forceshield bubble and put the flyer down on the hangar sands. He didn't bother to put it in the hangar. Given he was neat, neat, neat in all his habits, that said a lot to McCoy about how tired he was, and perhaps how shaky he felt.

"I hope your parents aren't still up," McCoy said, as they headed in. "We both **reek** of euphorics. And I could swear your pupils are a little more dilated than just the darkness can account for."

"There is some effect from the secondary smoke on my metabolism," Spock admitted, "but it is relatively minor." He nodded to the gate guards.

"Give you a headache?" McCoy asked, seeing Spock rub two fingers between his brows as they went through the garden court doors. "Surely those drums must have. I wonder your ears can stand it."

Spock nodded fractionally. "Yes. The euphorics, not the music. But I don't want any drugs." He walked through to the kitchen.

McCoy sank down at the table there. "I could surely use a cup of coffee," he said, too weary to figure out alien food processors and too tired to argue treatments with Spock.

"If you do, you will not sleep," Spock said, looking across at him.

"I don't care. I need it just to get up the stairs. I know I used to work 36 hour shifts as an intern, but I'm too old and this gravity is too heavy for me to do that here."

"I will make coffee," Spock said. Not bothering with food processors, he put on a kettle and boiled water the old fashioned way. In a moment it was steaming. He took a packet out of the cooling unit, poured the boiling water over it, and handed McCoy the result.

"This is real coffee," McCoy said after one delirious sip. "Don't tell me your mother grows this too?"

"I don't think so," Spock said, sitting across from him with a mug of his own. "My parents tend to grow what they consume. And my mother prefers tea. I believe she merely imports coffee for the needs of outworlder guests." He tilted his head, a Vulcan shrug. "Though I suppose it is entirely possible. Given the number of outworlders now present on Vulcan, it would certainly be a lucrative endeavor. And coffee blossoms are somewhat decorative. Vulcans might even find them edible, however noxious the beans. It might be a useful crop."

"Are there lots more outworlders here since when you first left for Starfleet?" McCoy asked.

"Indeed," Spock said.

"Maybe a less judgmental atmosphere?" McCoy prodded.

"I think you are being overly simplistic," Spock said severely. "The opinions of Vulcan society in general are not affected by a minor fringe group of outworlder nightclub aficionados."

"Straws show which way the wind blows," McCoy pointed out, and then went back to his coffee, to let that thought sink in. "You make great coffee, Spock. I know you don't like the smell of it, so thanks."

"As with most things, I believe the ingredients are the primary factor in preparing such a simple infusion. And it is of no consequence, Doctor. After eighteen years in Starfleet, I have grown used to the prevalence of coffee. I have grown inured to the aroma. I have even tasted it. And drank a little on occasion, when absolutely required." He shuddered minutely in memory.

"Hmmm," McCoy said. "You remember that?"

"I- Perhaps I do." Spock then shrugged. "It is hardly information I would need to protect from Klingons."

"I suppose so." After another few mouthfuls, McCoy became prescient enough to focus on what Spock was drinking. He blinked a few times in disbelief. "Cocoa?"

"I discovered in the past that this mixture compensates well for the second hand effects of common euphorics," Spock explained. "And without the noxious effects of your usual potions."

McCoy considered what he knew about the effects of theobromine and calcium on Vulcan metabolism and tipped a conceding brow, changing the subject. The absence of Spock's new flyer in the hangar could not have been missed by Spock. "Well, I guess Jim didn't make it back. He said he might spend the night on the Enterprise," he added. Spock nodded, stirring his drink.

"It's hard for him, Spock. He wants to make you better, and he can't. He's not a doctor. Though I'm a doctor, " McCoy conceded, "And I haven't been able to help you all that much either." He eyed Spock. "And you know you've totally blown Sivesh's study."

Spock's shoulders dropped and he gave an almost human sigh. "I know."

"Afraid to go back?" McCoy prompted.

Spock raised his eyes, shining like dark searchlights from his still dilated pupils. "That's not so."

"Do you know why then?"

Spock sighed again, looking down at his finished drink. "This is very good. But I believe the dose is insufficient. Do you want more coffee?"

"Sure."

Spock took his mug, tested the heat of the water. With his back to McCoy, perhaps he found confession easier. "Sivesh's approach is logical. But I don't care to be poked and prodded. Examined and dissected."

"I suppose you had enough of that in Klingon hands," McCoy conceded. "But it makes it hard to help you."

"I will help myself. In my own way," Spock said stubbornly.

"I know you're used to healing yourself. And that you prefer to. But you have to consider that you're hampered now. And you might not be fast enough to catch your ride, so to speak," McCoy reminded him. "The Enterprise leaves in-"

"I know that," Spock said darkly, returning to the table with their drinks. "I am going as fast as I can."

McCoy sighed. "Oh, Spock. If it's good enough for you, that has to be good enough for me. At least for now. But you have a lot of people who care about you. It pains them to see you struggling. And there may be a sense that you're..." McCoy hesitated how to phrase it.

"Not competent to know what is best for me?" Spock asked.

"No one has said that. But maybe not competent to treat yourself medically. You are missing some of your usual bag of tricks."

"Regardless, I prefer them to any others. I want to help Jim," Spock added, a bit obscurely, "But I am not sure I can...make it in time. He may have to leave me behind."

"Would that hurt you?"

"I can't think of that," Spock shook his head, human style, eyes shut in denial. "I can only go so fast."

"And if it hurts Jim?" McCoy asked.

Spock sighed again, looking down at his drink. "It will hurt Jim more if I return to the Enterprise and harm comes to anyone because I can't fulfill my duties. I'm am **trying**, Doctor. However it appears. In my own way, I am."

"I'm not accusing you of slacking, Spock." McCoy hesitated, watching him rub his brow again. "How's the headache?"

"Not any the better for being cross-examined," Spock said coldly.

"Sorry," McCoy changed the subject again. "Well, I'm no music critic, but for what my opinion's worth, I thought you played very well. Cold as you came to it too."

"You are correct, Doctor," Spock said, still miffed. "You are **not** a music critic."

"Oh, come on, Spock. The audience was eating it up."

"After 2 a.m., when they are all high on euphorics," Spock said sardonically, "that Andorian girl group would inspire similar reaction."

"Now, you know that's not true," McCoy chided. "And **you** seemed to be enjoying yourself."

"There's no need to be insulting, Doctor."

McCoy chuckled. "I just meant - I mean, ever thought of doing that? Not just part time, so to speak?"

Spock's put his cup down and his eyes widened. "Really, Doctor. I think you are the one suffering from euphorics."

"Why not? You like music; you're good at it; you supported yourself with it part time while you were at the Academy-"

"Can you imagine," Spock said, shaking his head human style, his lips twisting in reluctant amusement, "what my father would say if I were to undertake such a...frivolous activity? I might as well have told him I wished to be an actor."

McCoy laughed but turning serious, pointed out. "You went to Starfleet."

"I needed to do that," Spock said, shifting uncomfortably. "You saw the type of coalition Vulcan leads. How could I possibly learn about the Federation, really come to understand it, locked into a teaching and research schedule at the VSA?"

"I'm sure Sarek had plans to eventually bring you into the family business, so to speak."

"Yes. When he decided I would be mature enough not to be contaminated by outworlder influences. Which would no doubt be some ten minutes after my demise."

"I think you're still a little high," McCoy said, choking on his coffee. "In any event, you are being, as your mother would say, wicked."

"No doubt. And in the morning, I expect I will have much to answer for to my parents about my lack of manners last night. But at the moment," he stretched just a little, surreptitiously, Vulcan style. "I do not care."

"I think the one who lacked manners was your father," McCoy offered.

Spock raised a brow at that. "My father, Doctor, is beyond reproach."

"I don't think so," McCoy said, wide-eyed at that.

Spock shrugged. "You have not been on Vulcan long."

"You mean that's the typical view on Vulcan? Well, I've been on it long enough to see that he's got quite a bit of power. But you've been around the galaxy long enough to know that _might_ doesn't always make _right_."

"I don't think you know who my father is," Spock said.

McCoy blew out an exasperated breath, suddenly irritated. "Spock, oddly enough, having a medical degree makes me quite qualified to read a genealogy chart. I know who your father is. I know who your grandmother is. And wonder of wonders, I even know who **you** are. And surprise, surprise, I even knew it before Sarek first came on the Enterprise. If Jim never bothered to look you up, I did. Not long after I first came to the Enterprise, in fact."

Spock sat back and looked at him for a long moment. "I rather suspected that you had."

"I had to comb through your past medical records, to figure out how to treat you." McCoy raised a brow. "Though if you think I'm going to kowtow to you, the way your fellow Vulcans will if you show up at Council in another couple of days, you have another thing coming."

"Vulcans do not kowtow, Doctor. And your statement proves that you hardly understand anything at all."

"What I wonder is that you never said anything about it to anyone."

"It has no bearing in Starfleet. And I wished to be known there for my own accomplishments. Not those of my ancestors, to whom, for outworlders, there would be little relevance anyway."

"But to your friends," McCoy pointed out. "To Jim. It wasn't very fair to let Jim walk into meeting Sarek and not understand about the relationship between you two. That was unkind of you."

Spock shifted minutely, uncomfortably. "The Captain had many other taxing duties at that time, with the full complement of diplomats on board. Nor had the Captain any business making personal remarks to me in a professional setting, before passengers. And I had no expectation that my father would claim the relationship, so in effect it did not exist. For me to acknowledge what Sarek had refuted would have been inappropriate."

"Well, that's **another** issue."

"One I don't care to discuss."

"In spite of who Sarek is, that doesn't make him right. Spock even you know that." McCoy shook his head. "I don't get the relationship between you two. You stand up to your Grandmother. You certainly have disobeyed your father. Your mother has no illusions about Sarek being perfect. And you disagree with him. But you still act as if everything that is in discord between you two puts you in the wrong. You know that's not logical."

Spock look looked at him for a long moment. His eyes were still widely dilated, and for a moment, McCoy wondered if under the influence of whatever euphorics he'd picked up in the club, he was going to unbend. And maybe they could have a serious discussion about him getting past these family dynamics. But then Spock shook his head. "Sarek may be wrong. For me. But for Vulcan, he is always right. It is one reason why I perhaps have no place here."

"That's nonsense. And damn it, Spock, even if you go back to the _Enterprise_ now, sooner or later you're going to need to stay here. You can't keep running away because of Sarek-"

And then the door flung open and T'Jar entered. McCoy glanced at the windows and saw the first blush of rose in the sky. Matching in an odd counterpoint, the blush of green on T'Jar's cheeks as she came face to face with them.

T'Jar was younger than Spock. Though she was Vulcan and female, she had none of T'Pring's ice princess facade. McCoy wasn't sure of her exact household role. He'd gathered T'Rueth, the cook, was a consummate professional who could provide for a dinner party of 500 premier Federation guests as easily as a casual family breakfast. And T'Rueth's attitude toward even the family was a mixture of respect and dismissiveness, as if they inhabited a lofty place, but one so far removed from normal reality that it was past her logical concern. In that respect, she seemed to McCoy almost like every other Vulcan he had met.

T'Jar was her assistant, and also waited table and did basic housekeeping functions. A Vulcan skivvy, to put it uncharitably. She spoke English fluently, not surprising after years in Amanda's household. But her manner and attitudes were almost a world different than Spock's. And also different than T'Rueth's.

Clearly the lavish and painstaking education Amanda had indicated Spock had undergone, in both regular educational curriculums as well as Vulcan philosophy and disciplines, was not as fully undertaken by all of Vulcan's population. Whereas Spock seemed to have undergone an intense fifteen or sixteen year trial by fire, educationally, some other Vulcans - like T'Jar or the security staff, or even T'Rueth, a level above T'Jar - had a less rigorous experience. And whether part of it was hereditary or cultural or simply choice, they seemed to hold an interesting respect for those that did undertake that. Plus a rather surprising lack of envy or even desire to undergo the same.

McCoy had thought they had looked and treated Spock in an almost stunned way sometimes because he was perhaps an oddity to them, a hybrid. Now that he'd been on Vulcan a bit longer, he realized while that may be part of it, he was also a creature as far removed from some of them as were other members of his family. As if T'Pau, Sarek, Spock, were legends out of history like Surak, and not contemporaries.

For logical Vulcans, the planet's inhabitants had a hefty case of hero worship for Surak, and those who carried his lineage. But to humans, who'd given up any appreciation for hereditary entitlements long before the genetics wars, this attitude did seem practically feudal, and to a certain extent, as Jim had indicated, a bit distasteful, as such inequalities would be regarded on Earth. On Vulcan they seemed to coexist without any sense of incongruity for Vulcan's logical society.

And in keeping with that, when T'Jar saw Spock sitting in her kitchen, she straightened up and lowered her eyes in obeisance, somewhat like T'Pring had to Spock, but far more fully and sincerely.

"I beg pardon for intruding," she said, adding a phrase or title that she didn't attempt to translate. McCoy had heard it a few times before, used toward Spock. No one had ever clarified what the Vulcan words meant. And he had yet to hear it when a universal translator was handy.

"On the contrary, we are trespassing in your domain," Spock said, with his usual consummate manners. He glanced from McCoy to the door pointedly. "I think, Doctor, it is past time for us to retire."

"Excuse us," McCoy said to the girl, who stood rigidly while they passed out, except for bowing her head as Spock walked by.

"I'm going to bed now. But we are going to discuss this again, Spock," McCoy warned him.

"I have long discovered you have no propriety or restraint, Doctor, so I doubt I could prevail on you to avoid the subject," Spock said, with a terse nod as they reached McCoy's landing. "Good night."

McCoy caught his arm before he could leave. "What did she call you, Spock? The Vulcan words at the end of her apology?"

"It's an archaic hereditary title, Doctor," Spock said dismissively. "Seldom used outside of ceremonial or familial occasions."

"What does it translate as?" McCoy asked, looking up into Spock's still oddly dilated eyes. "You know that if you don't tell me, I'll ask someone. Or look it up myself."

Spock regarded him for a long moment. Perhaps it was the drugs. Or that Spock had just grown weary of avoiding the full knowledge of his Starfleet associates. "Future king," Spock said, and then turned and headed up the stairs to his own bed.

And in spite of all McCoy's suspicions of this very fact, his shoulders dropped as he considered all the ramifications of this. For Spock. With Sarek. "Damn," he said softly.

At the top of the stairs, Spock heard him and turned. "It is of no matter," he said. "T'Jar is a kitchen maid. It is what Sarek thinks that is decisive." And Spock went in through his own doors.

Alone in the hall, McCoy looked around his surroundings, heavy with Vulcan tapestry, ancient weapons and massive statuary. Everything from Sarek's attitude, to Spock's painstaking education and even the way both Vulcans seemed to believe they had to fight lematyas bare-handed as a matter-of-course, as if mastery of their ancient foe and herald was a pre-requisite to their position, made a little more sense. Except for what Spock had just said about Sarek. He still thought they were both being pig-headed about that.

And then the long night caught up with him, and McCoy felt all his years, magnified doubly under the heavy gravity. "Oh, I'm going to bed," he told the lematya banners. "This all can wait for another day."

And as he closed his door behind him, the banners hanging against the wall ruffled just a little, as if in tacit agreement.

_To be continued..._


	46. Chapter 46

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 46**

On the topmost parapets of the Fortress, Sarek was watching the night sky. Thinner air made starfields exceptionally crisp and clear on Vulcan, the starfield so bright it gave the illusion one could reach out and touch each dazzling flare. To Sarek many were not abstract points of light, but familiar locations where he had worked, lived and struggled with the inhabitants to come to some lasting peace.

But he tried not to think of that now. His meditations were directed inward, toward his own personal wars. He'd spent a great deal of the night striving to perfect his own control. While he had not, to his mind, said anything at the dinner table that should have caused Spock's precipitous, emotional reaction, he clearly needed to perfect his own emotional control to be ready for future altercations with his son. With so many humans inhabiting his home, he had, perhaps, grown a little lax in his control of late. It was time for him to remind himself of his own Vulcan roots and standards.

For in spite of years spent behind a negotiating table, Sarek's natural mode of operation was action. Millions of years of evolution had designed him to be a splendid warrior, intelligent, bold, ruthless. Only a few millennia had attempted to overlay that warrior nature with a veneer of peaceful civilization. That discipline came hard to all Vulcans. For the descendants of the legendary warrior Surak, it came harder.

And Sarek struggled with it. Some days, such as those where he was also tasked with illness or other stresses, he managed that balance - as Amanda might say with her sometimes doubtful tact - less successfully than others.

Sarek knew that his human wife found irony in that the very warriors who found it so hard to pull the yoke of peace were those tasked to lead and broker it. First on Vulcan. Then elsewhere in the galaxy. As Surak had decreed, it did set the appropriate example for other Vulcans. If he and the descendants of his warrior clan could undertake such tasks, then that control was surely within the realm of all Vulcans. Sarek considered irony an emotional human indulgence. To him, his role was ordained destiny. It could not be shirked, however taxing.

But if it was a destiny from which he could not escape, it was meant to be his son's destiny as well. Sarek had not been pleased that Spock had detoured into warrior mode, manifested by his sojourn into Starfleet. That Spock also found the struggle difficult was the very reason why Sarek believed his son must embrace logic even more fully than most Vulcans. Spock's history of altercations with his peers - fights - and even his tendency toward mischief was hardly unknown to him. He considered it proof that the warrior nature lay very close to the surface for Spock - as it did for all those of Surak's descent. His son's difficulties were thus to be expected. Nor did Sarek consider them human in origin. But a Vulcan nature enabled no license of behavior. Just as Vulcan passions were all encompassing, so Vulcan disciplines were required to master them. Human emotions, human manners were but a pale version. Human ways were incapable, in Sarek's view, of managing the Vulcan nature.

Sarek had seen no reason why Spock was not as capable as full Vulcans of control. Every tutor, every test had indicated his son's Vulcan abilities were fully present. Genetically, physiologically, Spock was Vulcan dominant. No. It was not lack of heritage, nor lack of ability that was at issue for Spock.

It was human influence. In Sarek's Federation travels, in his own personal relationships, he had empirical proof that human influences were far more pervasive than their genes or their emotions. That influence, that suggestive license, rather than a lack of nascent ability, Sarek considered most dangerous to Spock's control. Spock was Vulcan in nature. He was Vulcan in abilities. But in spite of all Sarek's efforts to the contrary, his human mother, and later his Starfleet associates, had taught him values that were unVulcan.

Sarek had striven to ensure that should not have happened. Spock had been trained by the best of masters, experts all. Sarek himself had personally lectured his young son on the need to continually practice Vulcan disciplines to master his true nature. Spock's reports from his tutors, his progress in the disciplines had been laudible. Aside from a few regrettable lapses in his primary years, Sarek had thought his son well on the path to an exemplary Vulcan life.

But then, Spock had made his astonishing choice for Starfleet. With Spock well aware of his father's views on Starfleet, Sarek had considered his choice a particularly insolent form of disobedience and disrespect. Perhaps a last ditch adolescent rebellion before final adulthood. And he had been determined to address it definitively.

But Spock had turned away unmoved. Left. Sarek had come to fear never to return. And Sarek had been forced to confront the knowledge that sometime over the years he had lost Spock and his influence over him. He had meditated often before this very starfield on the subject, but had never been able to pinpoint how or where it had happened. Spock had been difficult as a young child. But from eight or so onward, had settled down and seemed generally attentive to his duty, apart from occasional lapses. Sarek had told Amanda that all Spock had required was discipline. Exceptionally gifted as Spock was, Sarek had determined the solution to keeping Spock on the Vulcan path was order and discipline. And that, Sarek had delivered. Spock had spent the decade leading up to his departure for Starfleet under a heavy schedule of lessons, tutors and drills. Far from collapsing under them, Spock had seemed to thrive, mastering them with an ease that disconcerted his son's tutors. And if Sarek had not practiced his own form of control, might have amazed him. But tasked by a heavy diplomatic schedule that often took him off planet, Sarek had been relieved to have Spock well settled in a regime that fully occupied him.

Yet somehow, even as Spock became more Vulcan outwardly, he seemed less familiar to Sarek on each of his subsequent returns to Vulcan. The parental bond between them that had never been strong, virtually collapsed under the double stress of Sarek's long off planet assignments, and Spock's own trained abilities to manage his own shields. A wall came up between them.

Sarek thought it was the wall of maturity. So long as Spock's behavior reflected that maturity, Sarek was not discontented even at their new distance. But during this period, the reins of control Sarek had thought he had held so firmly had seemingly slipped from his grasp. And when Sarek strove to regain them, during what he considered minor lapses as to Spock's behavior, he had not been entirely pleased with the results. He had tried logic. He had tried discipline. Spock had been outwardly attentive to the lectures - though Sarek had secretly suspected inwardly somewhat removed as if patiently feigning attendance, but already hearing another siren call. He was stoic as to discipline. Neither had reached him. It had puzzled and somewhat disconcerted Sarek. As a child, his son had been almost embarrassingly eager to please. Sarek had disciplined that eagerness as being emotionally based. As a young teen, Spock had moved to wary watchfulness and then, by his academy years, to a cool distant critical removal. Sarek had thought, as Spock matured, they would find each other, past the constraints of parental strictures and disciplines imposed on them earlier. But as Spock matured, he instead seemed that much further removed from him. He had been gone long before he had left for Starfleet. That had merely been the final blow, insult, rejection of all Sarek had taught him.

Perhaps the failure had come from his first encounter with his son. Not being a facile telepath, Sarek had not set up a very deep parental bond with his child. Given Spock was a facile telepath and a well-trained one, Spock had learned to shield from it too early and too well. And so Sarek had lost that first primary connection to his son. Their long absences from each other had not helped.

Yet Spock had a different connection with his mother. Not so much telepathic but empathic. An emotional resonance Sarek had perceived between them even as he disliked and distrusted it for being unVulcan, and possibly jeopardizing Spock's adaptation to the Vulcan way. But Sarek had been unable to prevent that either. And Sarek had seen his son grow up, outwardly Vulcan, trained in all the disciplines, but in some dangerous respect, human. Contaminated by that maternal emotional subtext. Too easily drawn, too easily seduced by the lure of the exotic, the emotional, the exciting. Too unwilling to submit to the rationality of discipline and logic.

In view of Spock's sojourn in Starfleet, Sarek had considered either his parenting or his child a failure. At times he was not sure which. Perhaps both. It had not helped that Spock's mother - and indeed his Grandmother had indulged him. Sarek did not credit T'Pau's overall contention that Spock had the root of the matter in him. That he would do well. As Matriarch, she was forced to rule and pass judgment on major transgressions in Vulcan males. Sarek considered this made her too inured and sympathetic to Spock's minor deviancies. And though Sarek did not think of himself as chauvinistic, from a Vulcan male warrior's perspective, he found T'Pau attitudes little different in some respect from the child's human mother. They were both female and too indulgent. No woman, in Sarek's mind, could properly raise a Vulcan son.

He knew, had heard from various sources before Spock had left from Starfleet that his son found the prospect of a decade or two's teaching and research at the VSA before he took up his family responsibilities not sufficiently challenging. _Boring_, as Amanda had put it. Sarek considered that attitude remiss, however gifted his son might be. That Spock sought something more, Sarek considered the very reason why his son was incapable of doing anything else but continue in the very structured and disciplined activities that had ruled his teen years. A Vulcan truly dedicated to logic would welcome such a prestigious and honored position. A Vulcan who chafed under it was far more in need of discipline and parental mentoring than adventure. Or something more.

Sarek himself would give much to set aside his interminable diplomatic and leadership duties to indulge in pure research and teaching. In his less controlled moments, he envied his wife her profession if not her field of study. He considered himself extremely lenient to have put such an opportunity before Spock, rather than insist he begin his inevitable duties immediately. His thoughts had been twofold. Apart from the benefits of needed discipline such a task could convey, Spock would after all, spend most of his life in outworlder concerns and conflicts. There was no sense in starting them too early. Sarek had no great love for his diplomatic duties. He had lost his father to them. The stress of the control required for them was extreme. He had doubted Spock was capable of that, young as he was. A stint in academia would give him time to mature and perfect his disciplines. Spock should be grateful his father had foresight to consider his needs so thoroughly.

Instead, Spock had thrown that over and gone full into a military position that would tempt his imperfect controls perhaps past all mastery. Away from Vulcan influences, Sarek had expected him to fail, quickly and spectacularly. He had grown up so sheltered and cared for, and Sarek thought he was so young for his age, that Sarek had thought it impossible he could make it on his own in the wider realm of the Federation. He had forgotten, perhaps, that given his parents all too frequent absences from his life, Spock had to all effects been on his own from a very young age.

And he had thought Spock would quickly turn fully to human ways. Become undisciplined and unVulcan. He been surprised and relieved that Spock had kept as much as he had of his Vulcan disciplines. His demeanor was no worse, and in some respects better than any other young Vulcan of his age.

As for Starfleet, at least his son had not started any wars. His occasional lapses - the Pike incident for example - had not landed him into any insurmountable troubles. Though Sarek had had a truly bad moment when he'd understood Spock had risked the death penalty for that transgression. That had convinced Sarek that his son was still far from mature. Indulging in such an emotional, illegal escapade a mere two years ago indicated Spock was still badly in need of Vulcan discipline and guidance. He may have grown in some respects in his years in Starfleet. But he had not fully matured. His faults were still manifest.

And until Spock truly mastered himself, Sarek thought he had no business in a profession that put him in the way of temptations that Sarek had tried to safeguard him from since the boy's first days in primary school. Until Spock could take up duties at the Science Academy, embrace logic and discipline, and not long for aliens, altercations and excitement, Sarek thought him still regrettably, and Vulcanly, a child. There was no crime in immaturity itself. Spock was of an age to be affected by it. His failure was in his refusal to be guided from those pursuits. His willful rejection of his true Vulcan duty.

Whether that lack of control stemmed from his Vulcan or human natures hardly mattered. But the failure to remedy it Sarek **did** consider a human indulgence, unfortunately encouraged equally by his mother and his Grandmother. The longer Spock dallied in indulgent license, outworlder companions, and the excitement of Starfleet, the longer he delayed mastering discipline enough to take the position Sarek envisioned for him, do research and teaching at the VSA supervised by appropriate adult Vulcan mentors, the more difficult, perhaps even impossible, he would find living under those disciplines. To Sarek's mind, Spock's Starfleet duties and Starfleet associates were unfortunate habits that could not be eradicated from his life too soon.

But with T'Pau on Spock's side, he had had to wait. Now, T'Pau was reconsidering her decision. She had known that Starfleet was a dangerous occupation. But to her mind, dangers could never be entirely avoided, even on Vulcan. And Spock's time in Starfleet had been to her mind something in the nature of a trial. She had been curious as to how he would fare, if he would succeed, if he had the mettle, perhaps, at that young age, to hold his own and remain relatively Vulcan. And perhaps, Sarek suspected, she'd been curious to see if Spock had the warrior legacy from his Vulcan forebears.

Even Sarek had to conclude that he had most of that. His failures, his emotional lapses, his lack of discipline were not so much a result of his mother's genetic heritage. They were what could be expected for a Vulcan of his age, a descendant of Surak with all those strong passions. He had been perhaps too much absent in his young son's life. His mother's influence even on Spock's Vulcan nature had not been as entirely counteracted by a disciplined schedule as Sarek had hoped. And lately he had only human mentors to misguide him.

But Spock's recent injuries had given T'Pau pause. She had no desire to lose this child, particularly given his father's near fatal heart condition. Spock had no heir. Sarek had only Spock as heir. In the normal course of events, T'Pau knew that Sarek would still be in the prime of life even after Amanda exceeded a human span of years. She had expected him to father other children. But Sarek's heart condition, on top of his past other illnesses, had crystalized her intentions. She wanted Spock married - and producing heirs - within three years. Failing that, or even with that, she had delicately indicated to Sarek that she wanted him to explore other options for gaining heirs. And if she was considering that unVulcan extreme, Sarek doubted that she would continue to sanction Spock's Starfleet career.

And the question in Sarek's mind, was would Spock comply if T'Pau ordered him. So far he had seen no real sign that Spock had the discipline to do so. Spock's storming from the house over so simple a thing as his dinner menu, indicated he had made no progress in that regard.

Sarek was so deep in his meditations he entirely missed a soft familiar footfall behind him, so Amanda's voice came as a complete shock to his senses.

"What are you doing?"

He turned to find her standing wearing only the lightest of gowns, with a coverlet tossed over her shoulders against the night air.

"It's almost dawn," she continued, frowning as she approached him. "Have you really been here all night?"

"I am meditating," he said, somewhat unwilling to face her given his recent thoughts. "You interrupted me."

She flicked a human brow at that, undaunted. "You're shivering."

"My body is merely compensating for the ambient temperature."

She threw him a rolled-eyed glance at that Vulcan hyperbole. "Is there any logic in a Vulcan who has only recently recovered from a serious heart condition to stand unmoving for hours, freezing in the night air? It can't be good for you."

"I have been fully recovered for some time. And I had much to consider."

Amanda sat down on the parapet wall. Even though Sarek had utter confidence in the ancient stones, his heart gave a little undisciplined jolt when he reflected on the sheer drop below her if the ancient mortar should crumble. Stiff and cold as he was, his reflexes might not be quite up to saving her. He reached out and pulled her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her back. "Please don't sit there."

"You feel like an ice statue," Amanda complained. "You're as cold as that logic you keep touting."

Obscurely offended at that, and succumbing to the welcome warmth of her against him - he had not quite realized how cold he had become standing unmoving for hours in the freezing wind - Sarek bent his head down and kissed her.

"Well, I guess there's a little volcano buried under these icy peaks," Amanda conceded, looking up at him, her blue eyes shining in the starlit night. "But I can think of a better place to warm up." A gust of wind tugged at her coverlet, flapped the lematya banners flanking the Fortress ramparts, and she shivered, moving closer into his warmth. "Come to bed, Sarek. Try to get an hour's nap at least, before the day starts."

"He is not yet back," Sarek said, looking across the desert to Shikahr.

"Is that what you are waiting for? He said he would be late."

"Late is a rather indefinite term."

"Leonard and Jim are with him."

Sarek raised an ironic brow at that and looked down at her. "The presence of his Starfleet companions hardly mitigates my concern."

"He didn't say he **wasn't** coming home."

Sarek couldn't help drawing up at that, and Amanda sighed. "I concede you were trying to be helpful, in your own Vulcan way. And you walked into that one. I should have warned you that he wasn't exactly following Sivesh's diet."

"Not _exactly_?" he queried.

"Not at all, really," Amanda admitted.

Sarek let out a measured breath that if he were human, might qualify as a sigh. "Yes. You most certainly should have."

"Well, I was waiting for the right time," Amanda said evasively.

"Actually, you are not at fault," Sarek said upon reflection. "Spock should have informed me. And Sivesh as well."

"Maybe **he** was waiting for the right time."

"Don't excuse him, Amanda."

"He's sick."

"Now **you** are being disingenuous," Sarek said severely. "His injuries in no way affect his veracity. Unless you are implying he conveniently **forgot** to mind Sivesh's regime."

She shook her head. "You are doing it again."

"What?"

"You were doing so well for a little while. And now you have fallen back into your old pattern. Can't you let him find his own way?"

"He requires assistance to recover."

"What, because he's forgotten a lot of his Starfleet career, you think that you can conveniently ride to the rescue stressing the Vulcan way? As if the past never happened? That's disingenuous."

"Spock is Vulcan. He **requires** the Vulcan way."

She turned away from him, avoiding him when he reached for her. "You are falling back into the same pattern."

Sarek drew a breath in protest, then let it out, regarding his wife. He did not want Spock to cause another rift between them, but it was difficult for him to conceive how that could not be so, if she opposed what he saw so clearly that Spock required.

Lost in her own musings, Amanda absently picked a Mars daisy from an ancient urn bursting with a clump of them, a rare act for her, who disliked cut flowers on principal. She sniffed it absently, another sign of her abstraction. Mars daisies had no smell; their attraction was in their outrageous blooms. But she didn't look at it, twirling it between her fingers, instead gazing out over the low parapet wall. Her eyes were unfocused, seeing another more inward view. "I don't want to do this again, Sarek."

"Amanda." Sarek took her hand again, drawing her to him, bringing her back. "Truly, I am not. I have learned some things from past experience."

She looked up at him hopefully, then laid her cheek against his chest. "I hope so."

"But Spock requires aide. Sivesh's goals, which Spock agreed to, are meant to help to help him."

She drew back, miffed again. "Help him to be Vulcan, you mean."

Sarek sighed a little. "Amanda, he **is** Vulcan."

"Oh, Sarek." Amanda shook her head. "You know, don't you, what a ridiculous statement that is? I'm almost ashamed to hear you say it."

"I think perhaps you are also caught up in past conflicts. Perhaps you are thinking more of what **you** want."

She bridled at that. "If Spock had gone along with Sivesh, I would have nothing to say to it. If he doesn't want to, I'm not going to let you or Sivesh or **anyone** bully him into being more Vulcan than he can deal with."

"No one is bullying him."

"You're his father. He feels an obligation to obey you."

Sarek raised an ironic brow at that. "As well he should. And if that is finally true, then it is far past time that he did."

"He's my son too. How Vulcan he chooses to be should be his choice. Not yours. And you shouldn't disapprove of him for making a choice that wouldn't be yours."

"It is my task to guide him to make correct choices. And his to heed my council."

"Oh," Amanda sighed in frustration. "We are back to square one."

"No."

"Yes. We have been married close to forty years. We are both supposed experts in interspecies communication. And we can't communicate effectively at all on this subject. Still. Do you how ridiculous that makes **both** of us?"

"Spock has always been a difficult child."

She flared at that. "Don't you blame him for our problems!"

"Even you, his staunchest defender, could hardly deny that he was."

"One thing you had best remember," Amanda retorted. "I'm **not** his staunchest defender. Your mother is. And in Vulcan society, she outranks you."

"So she has been," Sarek conceded. "But she may have come to the conclusion that the time for adolescent experimentation has ended."

Amanda looked at him, stricken. "She wouldn't."

"She is certainly considering it," he warned her. "And will do what must be done. As you well know. Things may be changing in that regard."

Amanda's eyes flashed. "Well, she'll have to go through me."

Sarek measured her with his eyes and discounted her. "Indeed."

Amanda tossed the flower she was holding to the ground. "Well, some of the hints she's been making to me the last two weeks have begun to make sense. Fine. Go find yourself a Vulcan wife - or let her find you one - and raise yourself a Vulcan heir. Spock and I will take out outworlder, human influences out of your life. And good riddance to both of you."

Sarek caught her wrist. "Amanda."

"Maybe I should have left when he was eight. And taken him with me. I mean, he ended up enlisting in Starfleet anyway. He went through all your precious Vulcan disciplines and for what? To go through eighteen years of your rejection for making a choice he had every right to make. A choice your own mother sanctioned. And if you still have this attitude, then why should either of us bother with this anymore!"

"You wish to impose your own emotions on what, as you say, must be Spock's decision. I think we are **both** falling into familiar patterns."

She tugged at his hold. "You said you'd let me go."

"My saying that hardly implies that I wish it. Far rather the reverse."

"Well, that's an undying declaration of love," she answered, rife with sarcasm.

"Indeed it is," Sarek agreed. "Amanda. T'Pau's concern for an heir is in no way a negative reflection on Spock. Nor is my concern for him a negative reflection. She may simply believe it is time for him to attend to duties here. You yourself would not be adverse should he make that choice."

Amanda looked up at him searchingly and then drew a shaky breath, closing her eyes. "All **right**. I suppose I might be overreacting a tad. So long as it is his choice. Would you please let go of me? I'm not going anywhere tonight."

"My apologies." Sarek released the manacle clasp he had on her. Before he could think to stop her, she sank down on the parapet wall, rubbing her wrist moodily.

"I really wish you would not sit there," Sarek said, looking at her doubtfully.

She gave him a quirky grin. "There's no one here to toss me over."

"Never-the-less, a false step, a moment's lack of balance, the mortar giving way-" Sarek approached her worriedly, half afraid if she pulled back, she might go sailing hundreds of feet to the desert sands below. She straightened in indignation, causing Sarek to wince, going several shades paler as a few crumbles of ancient mortar dropped to the desert below.

"The mortar giving way? I don't weigh that much!"

"That was not my point. Please come here."

"Hmmm," she studied his outstretched hand. "And yet oddly enough, when our five year old son moved up to the rooftop suite after his Kahs Wan, you assured me that he would be perfectly safe here."

He gave her a wary look. "Come. As you say it makes sense to rest before the stresses of the coming day."

"You just don't want to argue with me about Spock."

"Indeed, I do not. And I don't wish you to sit there. It is only with the strictest of Vulcan disciplines that I am refraining from ordering you to attend me, in emphatic mode."

She looked at him, shifting back a bit the better to look up into his eyes and gage his control. At this the throw that she had tossed over her shoulders was picked up by a gust of a breeze and billowed off her shoulders. She turned, reaching out to pluck the end from where it flapped in the air, leaning a fraction more over the sheer drop. At that, Sarek threw discipline and tact to those extreme disciples of Surak, the Kohlinar supplicants, leapt forward and scooped Amanda off the wall, pulling her tightly against him.

"Don't ever do that again," he warned her in his own language, his voice a low growl.

"Sarek, I was perfectly safe! That wall is as sturdy as a boulder. It's been there five thousand years. The structural engineers check everything after every monsoon to ensure the mortar is good. You're being illogical."

"Don't ...**ever**...do it... again."

"All **right**."

Sarek let out a shaky breath, laboriously reestablishing his control. "And you wonder why I had a heart attack," he muttered.

She had the grace to be disconcerted. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"I wish you would remedy that failing."

She looked truculent. "You claim to have all this control. But it doesn't seem to serve you very well. Maybe you want to rethink my leaving."

"Amanda. Enough."

She sighed and rubbed her own forehead. "You are right. We've been through an awful lot together, Sarek. And I hate fighting over Spock. But my flares of temper aside, I don't really see myself leaving you - even if T'Pau suddenly wants you to consider another bondmate."

"That is not any consideration for me."

"And even as he is," Amanda overrode that subject, "Spock hardly needs me to defend him anymore. He's not a child. But he will leave if you push him. He's proven he can make it on his own. So I really need you to listen to him - not just lecture him - this time. If you can do that, that's all I ask."

"Of course," Sarek said. "Naturally."

She sighed in frustration. "You say that as if you ever did. Sarek, you never have."

"That is untrue."

She shook her head. "At times like this, I really wonder why I ever married you. We neither of us understand each other."

"I will talk to him."

"No, I want you to **listen** to him."

"That too," Sarek said.

She sighed, shivering again. Across the sands, the lights of Shikahr began to wink on, preparatory to another Vulcan day. "I hope so, Sarek. I certainly hope so."

He wrapped an arm around her as they walked from the parapets, wondering what logical arguments she honestly thought Spock could bring to him, in the face of his ordained Vulcan destiny, that could possibly justify his continued presence in that barbaric organization.

_Humans._

xxx

When Kirk brought Spock's flyer to the Enterprise, he clearly was as welcome by the remaining officers there as an early guest to a party.

Informed as to his arrival by the bridge, where Chekhov had been glorying in solitary command, Scotty came to the hangar deck looking like he'd been woken out of the first sleep he'd had in days. He eyed Kirk blearily. Since Kirk did not introduce her, he prudently ignored the Orion girl hanging decoratively on Kirk's arm.

"We're no ready for a Captain's inspection, sir," he said a bit sulkily. "Nor for any guests at all yet. I'd just turned in for a wee nap meself. We're booting all but a few critical techs off for the engine shakedown come morning. Gie us a few days. If we don't blow to kingdom come, we'll have her prettied up for brass and ye tours soon enough."

"I'm not a guest, Scotty," Kirk said mildly. "And I'm staying the night."

"Aye, sir." Scotty said tiredly. His bleared eyes moved past Kirk and took in the flyer they were exiting from. A faint gleam entered them then, in spite of his exhaustion. "Now, there's a bonny wee thing."

"Spock's. The engine compartment on the warp sled is the size of a closet," Kirk confided.

"Is it now?" Scott looked interested, but shelved it for future consideration. "Mr. Spock is well enough to go acquiring something like this? He never struck me as verra keen on personal craft."

Kirk swallowed hard at that. "Well, his parents procured it for him."

"Aye, to be sure," Scott nodded as if it made perfect sense to him that if Spock was losing the _Enterprise_, family might soften the blow with this craft. "We'll be seeing him before departure, sure?"

"He's coming **back**, Scotty."

"Aye, sir." Scott's face turned neutral, adding casually. "Fleet's notified us of crew updates. Transfers and the like. All waiting for you in your quarters."

"I've seen copies. That's premature, Scott."

"Aye, sir," Scott said, recognizing Kirk's stubbornness and refusing to get into it. He nodded tacitly to Kirk and the Orion girl. "Weell, I've a verra busy day tomorrow and I'm fair knackered getting ready for it. Unless there's else ye need, Captain, I'll leave ye to enjoy the rest of your evening."

"Thanks, Scotty."

Scott nodded. "Environmental is at null in the saucer from deck five down. The observation deck has environmental," he added, knowing it was a favorite spot for Kirk.

Kirk nodded soberly.

In spite of that his chief interest was the engines and the _Enterprise_, in that order, conscience made Scotty pause before leaving the room. "Are **ye** all richt, Captain?"

Kirk looked at Scotty for a long moment, his expression immutable, until Scott nodded. "Aye. Evenin, sir."

Kirk stared after Scott long enough that his companion mewled and tugged at his arm.

"Sorry," he said, looking down at her with an absent smile, coming back to reality. "You're right. This **is** supposed to be shore leave."

To Orions, sex was a sonnet, a symphony, their _raison d'être_. They had an instinct for fellow afficionados. For those who did it well. Kirk did it very well.

He was less facile at sleeping. At least since that fateful mission. As was usual for him lately he woke sweating and shaking from a set of recurring nightmares in which he tried to save Spock from a dozen disasters real and imaginary: a phaser blast, a gunshot, the Deneva parasites, on and on. Failing every time. For the last two months, it had been the same scenario every time he closed his eyelids. It left him exhausted in the morning, cranky and irritable by day. He'd been hoping it would be different this evening, that having someone next to him would anchor him in the present. If not hold the nightmares at bay, at least tone them down. But he still woke gasping in fear, his heart racing, his hands outstretched to try and save Spock from yet another dire fate.

He sat up on the edge of his bunk and rubbed his chin. Beside him the Orion girl slept blissfully on, a faint smile on her emerald lips. He wished he could inhabit her dreams for a night, instead of his own. His side of the bunk held only nightmares, not rest. And right now, he couldn't face any more of them.

He knew he could go to McCoy, confess - Bones was already suspicious, in one sense it would be a relief -have him pontificate on the phenomenon and attempt to head shrink him. McCoy had been sniffing around, suspecting this very thing. But as Chief Surgeon, he'd been understandably hesitant to get into it, hoping the shore leave would help, striving to avoid official notice of Kirk's condition unless it became necessary. He settled for growling warnings at him. And Kirk had known it wouldn't be. Once Spock was well again, the nightmares would move from serial torment to occasional plague. No more than what most command officers suffered.

And Kirk himself didn't want to hear McCoy on the subject. He knew all the platitudes that he would be told. That Fleet was a dangerous career. Casualties were to be expected. A captain couldn't save everyone. He couldn't take the injuries and deaths incurred in the line of duty by his officers and crew entirely on himself or he'd cease to be effective as a commander.

Starfleet, like any military service, tried to walk a careful line. They didn't want Captains who rode hell for leather, ignoring the butcher's bill when toting up the success of a mission. But they didn't want ones too squeamish to take any sort of risk with their crew. And they didn't much care for favoritism.

The butcher's bill for the last mission had been relatively light. Injuries, no deaths. Starfleet had been pleased. Given his prior objections to it, he'd been in for some 'I told you so's from his superiors.

And save for one Vulcan First Officer, everyone else had fully recovered, and was back on duty. And as they reminded him, Spock had been a calculated risk. Sent in because as he had beaten the mindsifter before, Starfleet counted on him beating it again, and coming out with their information alive. Spock, they reminded him, had known the score before he took the mission. He'd volunteered.

Under pressure, Kirk thought.

Kirk had hated the mission. He'd signed up for exploration, not espionage. He'd done espionage before. He knew a certain amount of it came with the job. But he'd had a bad feeling about this one. It had smelled.

Starfleet's response to his reluctance had been to suggest transferring Spock temporarily to another ship, a Captain with less inconvenient scruples. And Kirk had said no. He'd been right. Both as to the dangers of the mission and that fact that he wasn't sure another Captain would have gotten Spock out of that mess. And he still had a bad feeling. In fact, he wasn't sure he was going to have a good feeling ever again until he was sitting across from a reinstated Spock on the bridge of the Enterprise.

It was true, of course, that a Captain could have no strong personal feelings that would interfere with the execution of a mission. But it was all crap too. He was human. And his feelings, his emotions, were part of what made him a good captain. A great one. Spock wouldn't have been retrieved without his own personal conviction he was going to get him back.

But he had recovered no more than Spock had. And now the cabin walls seemed to close in on him, rivaling the nightmare Klingon cell Spock had occupied. Kirk rose to his feet, careful not to wake the girl, pulled on pants, shrugged into a shirt, and went out into the corridor. In his mood, walking till he was tired was his best option. Though after his long day, he was already well past tired.

He stumbled along for a few paces, one hand trailing the cool solidity of the bulkhead wall, before a wave of dizziness rushed over him. Too many days on Vulcan, that's what it was, he thought blearily. And now the light gravity and excess oxygen on the Enterprise was disconcerting him. He'd still been taking triox. In this atmosphere, it was backfiring on him. The reverse of the Mars Throat he had first developed when trying to do without Triox on Vulcan, now he was suffering from too much oxygen flooding his overtired brain, from the dual effects of his body acclimating to Vulcan's lower levels and the drug he'd been taking abruptly transported to the _Enterprise's_ Earth normal conditions. But that would pass too. He'd just need a day to reacclimate to these levels again. Purge the drug from his system. Get his sea legs back, as it were.

Breathing hard, he fell back against the bulkhead, letting it steady him until it passed. After a few moments his vision cleared. He blinked once or twice, looking at the nameplate outside the cabin across from him. _Cmdr. Spock_

He stood staring at it for a long, long moment. He knew of course, that Spock wasn't behind that door. Wasn't on the bridge. Or in auxiliary. Or in Engineering or the science labs or any other place on the ship. Even he couldn't convince himself of that. The lack of traffic in the corridors - and even in this relatively unpopulated part of officer's country there was always some - the deep hush of the ship with nearly everyone gone, didn't let him fool himself that he was back in a time before that fateful mission. But it was still oddly comforting thinking of Spock being there. If wishful thinking were anything…

He pushed himself off the bulkhead and went through the door. The warmth of the room was the first thing that hit him. Spock always kept his cabin a few degrees above the _Enterprise's_ usual ambient temperature. And the humidity and oxygen levels just a bit lower. No real comparison to Vulcan, now that Kirk had had ample experience from actually living on Vulcan for an extended period. But it must have been a good compromise for Spock.

And, for him, it made him feel just a bit better.

Kirk took a deep breath of the warm dry air, faintly scented with an incense that reminded him now of the wind off the Forge. He blinked in the slightly reddish light, wondering if Spock had adjusted the lighting spectrum in his cabin or if it was just the influence of the red wall hangings. Even without Spock there, a tightness loosened in his chest. All these small details said Spock to his senses. He half expected his First Officer to walk out of the inner cabin, raise a brow, call him Captain, suggest a game of chess in the rec room...

Normal.

Except that was a phantom Spock. A ghost of a memory. Still he couldn't stop himself from walking into the sleeping cabin, half willing his friend to be there.

And came up against that damn lematya symbol, shimmering in gold and silver embroidery, gleaming against the black coverlet on Spock's bed, claws and teeth bared and challenging. Kirk stood staring down at it, half feeling as if the ancient symbol was challenging him, had stolen Spock away, swallowed him whole, transported him back to Vulcan and snarling now, would not let him go. Kirk's fists clenched at his side, his teeth half baring as if to snarl back.

Then he heard the door whish open behind him. He whirled wondering if this whole scenario was a nightmare, a bad dream. That there had been no mission gone awry, no Klingons, and that Spock had just come back from the bridge. The controlled Vulcan would raise a brow in concern and surprise at finding Kirk in his cabin. But though he knew it wouldn't be the first time his captain wandered the ship after a bad nightmare, even before this episode, though Kirk had never before invaded his First Officer's private cabin, Spock would recommend a visit to their Chief Surgeon. Kirk would go, to humor him. Happy that Spock was well, that it was all in his head. And McCoy would grouse at him about Captain's stresses and suggest a course of hypnotherapy.

If only.

He closed his eyes, willing the next voice he heard would be Spock's.

And heard a sharp shocked gasp behind him. "Captain!"

It was a high, feminine voice. His heart plummeted in disappointment, his shoulders dropped, and he drew a long, ragged breath.

And turned to find Uhura there.

"I'm sorry," she said, her hand to her throat. "You startled me. I wasn't expecting anyone to be here."

He didn't need to ask her why she was there. She had Spock's lyre in her hands.

"You ever think of buying one of your own while you are here?" he said, by way of a diversion, even though she had seen the look of dismay on his face. It wasn't the most politic of statements, but it was all he could come up with.

"I am," she said. "I am so used to it and if he doesn't -" she caught herself, "I thought Mr. Spock and I could play some duets," she amended, in a smooth cover. "At the party, I asked him what he recommended. He turned me over to his father, saying he was the expert. And the Ambassador told me a good musician shouldn't play on a mass produced device, but have one custom made for the shape of their hands." She carefully placed Spock's lyre in the niche he usually kept it in and spread her hands out before her, studying them as if they were foreign to her. "Also, that I should have one made with a lighter action, and custom strings, because an instrument made for Vulcans wouldn't play as well for a human, who has less strength in their fingers."

"What did Amanda say about that?" Kirk asked idly, eyes narrowed at Uhura's first, hastily covered up admission. So she too thought Spock was not going to return.

"She said she plays piano by choice. But playing Sarek's lyre would hurt her fingers and she wonders how I play Spock's. So I am having my hands measured for a custom one tomorrow. After Scotty boots us off the _Enterprise_ so he can do his engine test, I'll have a couple of days to explore Vulcan."

"Careful," Kirk said lightly. "You don't want to spend any more time there than you have to. It can be ...addictive. Or something."

"I take it Mr. Spock is no better?"

Kirk set his jaw and turned away slightly. After a moment, he managed to shake his head tightly. "I'm not sure anyone can tell." He stared fixedly at nothing, trying to master his emotions, and blinked as that damn lemayta shimmered before his eyes almost as if it were moving. He stumbled a step backward.

"Captain," Uhura caught his arm, "Are you all right?" She gave another little gasp as he turned to her blindly. Without thought, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her with frantic urgency - that response to stress that often lends itself to survivalist instincts. It took him a moment to realize what he was doing and recollect himself. And that while she'd responded, it had only been halfheartedly. Comfort rather than passion.

He drew back half a pace to look down into her worried eyes. "Sorry. That's not quite how I imagine kissing you."

"You imagine it?" she asked, a twist of a smile teasing her lips.

"Very non-regulation of me, but sure." He traced a hand along her cheek. "Hard not to, beautiful as you are."

She wrinkled her nose, sniffing. "Not to be impolite, but you **reek** of Orion musk."

"I've got a girl in my cabin," he admitted.

She half laughed, and stepped away. "You are something, Captain James T. Kirk."

"Hey, don't you know?" Kirk said, an edge of bitterness in his voice. "We're on shore leave. And it's a long night, sleeping alone."

"But you're not sleeping with her now," she pointed out.

"Komack says it's a first command thing," Kirk commented obscurely. "That a lot of captains - good ones, especially, - have trouble letting go of a first command."

"You'll have the Enterprise still," she said, frowning.

"The Enterprise is Spock. And Spock is the Enterprise." He looked down at Uhura. "I don't know how he can think of giving her up. I've only been here three years, and I never could. Spock's lived here fourteen."

"We'll all have to move on, eventually. At least, this is a better move than some have had."

"That he didn't die?" Kirk gave her a look. "Mendez says it's Spock. He sent in comments with his crew recs. That Pike couldn't let him go, and now **I** can't. That it's best if I'm well rid of him. The way Jose goes on about the dangers of Vulcans, if this were a few hundred years ago, I think our Commodore would have Spock burned for a witch."

Uhura choked half amused, in spite of her worry over this impromptu confession.

"He says they're more alien than we think." Kirk shook his head. "This from Jose, one of the most progressive flag officers in Fleet. He's always been a fair man. Though he did have to sit through that Talos thing. And I've been on the planet more than a week now, and all I can say is I haven't met another Vulcan like Spock."

"He is special," Uhura confirmed.

"He's **mine**," Kirk said fiercely. He felt Uhura freeze beside him and choked out a laugh. "I know. McCoy would haul me down for a lecture on the dangers of the egomania inherent in command. My ship, my crew, my officers, my command, my mission. Mine, mine, mine. He says within two years starship captains can come to sound like two year olds."

"Well, apart from taking watches where I knew you were off duty a few decks down, I've only conned the ship a half dozen times. It **can** be a heady feeling. Terrifying but exhilarating. I imagine after a while it has to affect you."

"Watch out, you have the makings of a captain," Kirk teased. Then his brow darkening, he said, "Screw McCoy. And Mendez. And Komack." After a moment, he added with less certainty. "And his parents, and T'Pau and all of damn Vulcan. He's still mine. The only thing that will reconcile me to that blasted mission is to have all of my crew back, intact."

She leaned against Spock's wall divider, looking at him. "With all due respect, Captain, you want to watch it. I know I don't have to remind you of this, but after Garth, the flag ranks are awfully sensitive to excesses in starship command. Fighting orders could hurt your career."

"I never want a damn flag." He fingered a string of Spock's lyre, which gave out a discordant note, as if in protest. He laid his fingers across the strings, stilling the sound. "Oh, some ship captains can't wait for it. I suppose if I don't get cashiered out and live long enough, I'll get offered one someday. And if I can't still con a ship, I'll take it. But otherwise, I'll take the bridge over a flag command any day."

"Well, I think you might be up against political realities taking on Vulcan regardless. They're an important ally. Even you might have trouble coming up against them. Especially with Fleet on their side. And what does Mr. Spock want?"

"I'm not sure he knows," Kirk said, sidestepping all the other considerations.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He looked at her. "And I'm sorry, for putting this on you. Next time you come across me wandering around in the night, give me a wide berth. Meantime, I suppose we all have a busy day tomorrow. I'll leave you to get some sleep. What, Chekhov has the con?"

She nodded. "Very happily too."

"I'll take that as a hint not to wander up to the bridge and spoil his fun," Kirk said.

"I'm sure your girl is missing you," she said, wondering if the real reason he avoided the bridge, usually his first check when he returned to the Enterprise after any absence, was because he was coming to imagine it without his first officer and best friend.

"And I'm sure, after tomorrow, she won't remember my name."

"I doubt that," Uhura said, striving for a worried smile. This definitely was not the Kirk she remembered from before the Klingon mission.

"Well," he said with a quirked brow and half smile, "after a few weeks, maybe."

"Good night, Captain," she said.

"Sleep well, Nyota," he said, his eyes remote and a little sad, noting the professional distance in her tone, in spite of the sympathy in her eyes. It was, he knew, the inevitable effect of his command that required he be a step removed from all his crew and officers. A captain had no right to friends, at least not friendships that conflicted with his missions or his orders as came down from his superiors. He had no right to a friendship with Spock. An officer lost was to be regretted. McCoy would tell him he should be like the Orion girl. After two months with a new exec, he'd remember Spock fondly, but he'd already have begun to forget him. Not turn a corner in the Enterprise and expect to see him. Not hear his voice. Mendez was probably right - Vulcans were unknowns, dangers. Better to shift Spock to a shore detail if he remained in Fleet at all than let one Vulcan renegade impact his promising Fleet career. Uhura was right in that even he couldn't possibly buck T'Pau if it came down to a real contest.

Everyone was right. And yet everyone was wrong. Because the Enterprise was Spock and Spock was the Enterprise. And both were his. At least for this tour of duty. They been given to him and he wasn't giving either of them up.

Both were his. He closed his eyes against a headache that throbbed at the prospect of losing either.

It took a few moments after he heard the door close behind her before he could open them. Leaving him staring at that damn snarling lemayta. He remembered Amanda spending hours of her time repairing the coverlet from Spock's bed at home. Presumably this one was perhaps not as valuable an antique, but valuable enough that Kirk didn't pull the thing off the bed and toss it on the floor. It was Spock's, after all.

Instead he turned to Spock's bureau. If Spock were going to visit the Enterprise tomorrow - today - he could at least do so in uniform. Kirk had been prevented from picking up a dress uniform for him for the party. But this was a party of a different sort, wasn't it? A send off party. And Spock could dress in uniform for that. Perhaps it would also help to jog his memory.

He reached for the drawer most crew kept uniform shirts in - everyone had the same built in furniture, and everyone pretty much used the same drawers for the same things - part regulation, part lack of any other choices - and found it empty. Frowning, he pulled open the next likely drawer. That was empty too. He pulled open drawer after drawer, all out to the stops. They were all empty.

He was breathing hard again, hunched over the bureau, watching himself scrubbing at his sweating face - the air was suddenly too hot, too dry, whereas a moment before it had been fine - panicked and puzzled. Spock was not really gone, not yet. A moment's glance confirmed the larger items in Spock's cabin were still there - the red curtains, the meditation flame, the black chair that was one of the few rare pieces of personal furniture on the ship, the lematya bedcover. Spock hadn't moved out, wasn't gone for good. Why had he no uniforms?

Not that uniforms were meant to last forever. The fabricator made them as easily as toilet tissue and - from McCoy's grouching complaints - they wore no better. They did tend to tear easily, and wear out quickly. Getting a new one was as easy as going to a fabricator station - there was one next to the officer mess, the crew mess and another in each engineering nacelle - and punching in a personal retrieval code. It only took a few minutes. But everyone still kept a few spare uniforms at hand. There were times when the fabricators were taken off line for servicing, or were tied up with other ship's functions. So it was only prudent to have at least three changes handy. Kirk went through a lot of uniforms. He tended to keep a week's worth in his quarters, of different styles, varying the command gold with green occasionally. Spock always wore a thick, long sleeved black undershirt under his blue science tunics. As exec, he could wear command gold too. But he never had since Kirk had taken command.

But there were no blue science tunics in the bureau. No black undershirts. Not even socks or underthings. No spare dress uniform, which tended to be saved because the materials to fabricate it were more expensive than work-a-day uniforms, and they didn't get real wear. There was nothing.

Kirk closed the drawers and turned away from the bureau. The empty drawers were code to him, a signal. His practical science officer, who calculated odds as easily as breathing, had estimated he would never return from his last mission. He'd never replaced his stock of uniforms as he wore them. He used up his last uniform before he'd departed - he'd been wearing disguise on the mission. He had left as little as possible behind for his friends and shipmates to discard. To strip his cabin of all his personal effects would have been too blatant, too severe a message. But he could do this much.

And the thought that he had done it - the thoughtfulness of it, the sheer consciousness and prediction of his mortality that Spock had lived with before leaving on that mission - broke a heart Kirk had thought was already near shattered from worry and loss. He found himself sinking down on Spock's narrow little bunk, scrubbing at tears he'd lost all ability to hold back. His wet fingers, clutching at the bed covering, felt the sharp edged of the metallic embroidery rather than the soft absorbency of the regulation cover. He looked down at the snarling lematya, but this time it didn't seem so much an enemy as a protector. A conspirator with him. Being Vulcan had bought Spock time, given him strength, kept Spock whole until Kirk could retrieve him, rescue him.

"You're not my enemy are you?" he asked it. "Are you?" The embroidery shimmered in his wet vision. He scrubbed one last time at his eyes and moved to push himself upright. No reason to stay here; there were no uniforms to retrieve. Spock had calculated his mortality. And he was almost, never wrong.

But the room spun around him and he sank down dizzily. He ended up passing out, cheek pressed against the lematya's snarling saber-toothed visage, guarded by its gleaming length.

xxx

On Vulcan, Spock closed the door of his suite behind him and drew a quiet, measured breath. He hadn't missed seeing the foreshortened figures of his parents on the parapets, any more than he had failed to notice the absence of the new flyer in the hangar, meaning Jim had failed to return.

Vulcan and Starfleet. Starfleet and Vulcan. The continual tug of war he'd been feeling for the past eighteen years.

Neither side – his parents, Jim - had left him unaffected by their wishes, even as he was resisting the claims from both parties.

Disparate as they were, both were in some respects the same. They each had requirements he doubted he could meet.

Under a water shower he washed away the trace of euphoric from his skin and hair, tossed his clothes in the fresher. Only his still dilated pupils admitted that he had picked up some second hand. He hoped it would not give him bad dreams, since it seemed he couldn't prevent the dreams from coming. That was one aspect of his humanity that in spite of all his Vulcan tutors' doings, in spite of all Sarek's disciplines, he had never fully mastered. He did dream. He didn't know whether it was a human trait, or a failed Vulcan discipline. He only knew he did dream.

And at the moment in spite of his exhaustion, the thought of bed was restrictive, the thought of sleep and dreams unsettling. He went out to his own terrace, breathing in the cool clean morning air. He wondered at his disquiet in seeing that Jim was still absent. There was no reason to expect him. Spock had seen him leave the club. After three years of service together, Spock knew his Captain's shore leave habits. He would naturally seek female companionship. And he wouldn't presume to bring such a companion back here. He would take her to a hotel, or perhaps to the _Enterprise_. Yes, now that he recalled it, McCoy had passed on the message that he planned to spend the night on the _Enterprise_. He no doubt was there now.

Spock searched the night sky for one particular moving star, but then he remembered, the _Enterprise_ was not in planetary orbit but still in dockyard. He thought about the _Enterprise_, still in pieces. As shattered as he was. Her hull and nacelles were not scheduled to rejoin until tomorrow.

He thought of Jim sleeping aboard her. Soon to leave.

And for the first time, he felt a niggle of unease about that. Up until now, since his return home, the _Enterprise_ had become almost an abstract concept to him. He knew about the ship, of course. His home for many, many years. Over the years, it had come to supersede Vulcan in his thoughts of _home_. Home had become the _Enterprise_ to him, as much as Vulcan. But his memories of it, of _**her**_, as the traditional vernacular required, were an order removed. His Starfleet life was something he viewed, what he could remember of it, as something distant. Remote. Through a glass darkly. Or as if through a microscope - all details swimming into foreshortened magnified view, when a memory was triggered, but no overall picture. Little emotional connection, himself removed. It all might have happened to someone else.

And he didn't want to remember. Didn't want to think about it. First because of the pain and confusion it caused him. But also because he had held the odd conviction that those events **had** happened to someone else. Him, perhaps, before. But not he as he was now. Whoever he was now.

This morning, though, thinking of Jim on the _Enterprise_, alone, soon to hare off into unknown dangers, he felt a niggle of unease. With Jim and McCoy in the same house, sleeping just below him, he'd had all the people who mattered most to him close by. All safe, locked up in his ancient home, his Fortress strong. He had no cause for worry. He could stand down from command. A relief when he had been so strained and worn. Coming home, living at home, he'd felt something of the relief of a child, traveling in the back of his parent's aircar, the course set by others, the cares managed by others, and himself a mere passenger.

It had come to be frustrating, because they all wanted something from him. Sometimes mutually conflicting things, things he could not give them, certainly not please all of them. But at least he had not had to attend to their safety. And the course had not been his to set. Yet. Or he had avoided setting one.

But with Jim on the _Enterprise_, alone, that was a concern. Not a large one yet. But after Jim left Vulcan, the niggle of unease that plagued Spock now might expand into a true disquiet. Jim would set his course, the Enterprise's course, alone. He would have to find his, also alone. For the first time in fourteen years, he would not have an identity of a Starfleet officer, a tacit home on the Enterprise, and duties to distract him. He'd truly have to say good-bye to his companions, see them leave him behind. Set his own personal course on Vulcan while they hared off into danger. He wasn't sure how sanguine he felt about either prospect. Unless he mastered his emotions a great deal better than he presently could, or perhaps ever had, he suspected he would find it very difficult.

Not that Sarek wouldn't fully support such a mastery. He could count on his father to be behind him on that, could imagine the regime he and Sivesh would devise for his re-education.

He would be home again. Guided, mentored like a young child. It could be a relief.

But instead the prospect made him inwardly wince.

He felt instead slightly ill. And suddenly very, very tired.

But sure of one thing. It had been a long, long time since he had been a child.

_To be continued... _


	47. Chapter 47

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 47**

Spock could see his breath in the air. When he had vision. Mostly now, they kept him blindfolded and so tightly restrained his hands and feet had long gone numb. But that was logical. He'd killed two people resisting capture. And now severely injured one of the Romulan interrogators.

He hadn't meant to kill anyone. He'd been attempting the neck pinch, both because it was less violent but also quieter. And he'd been seeking to go undetected. But another guard had surprised him, and he reacted precipitously, with less control than he should have, flinging the first into the second with so much force, he'd broken both their necks. It had caused him some sorrow. To take a life without reason was reprehensible. Since his actions had not affected the outcome, it had been without reason, if not without some justification.

A dozen more guards had poured in behind the two he had dispatched, stunning him with a phaser blast. And he had been captured. One, coming in smirking at the end, he recognized as a supposedly secure Federation contact. A double or perhaps now triple agent, playing a dangerous game. After that though, he saw him no more. He'd heard them muttering he'd been executed after Spock was captured, his dual nature having been discovered. These Klingons often forgot the efficacy of Vulcan hearing.

Now, he heard that the Romulan interrogator that he'd lately injured had never regained consciousness. After some time, they had simply executed him too. Another death on his conscience to plague him.

Violence was unVulcan of him, and he regretted delivering that injury to the Romulan now, even though he had been a chief tormentor. It too had been the undisciplined reaction of an instant. Sarek would be so displeased with him once he heard the circumstances surrounding his son's death. With them so newly and tentatively reconciled, Spock regretted this ignoble coda on his imperfect life. He had been striving so hard to be Vulcan under these extreme conditions. To control pain, to manage his metabolism to use minimal energy and prolong his survival, even though it increased the time he spent under torture. Not to hope. Nor despair.

But he was losing himself. He'd now lost track of time - a near fatal symptom for a Vulcan. Rather his timesense was faulty. Fever and fading mental faculties had rendered it hopelessly inaccurate. Losing that sense unsettled and distressed him. He couldn't remember how long he had been in captivity. And he'd blocked so much of his memory now he was losing **himself**. He remembered he was supposed to wait - for something, for someone. But he wasn't quite sure for what or for whom anymore. And now with his timesense gone, he was unsure of how long he had been waiting, nor could gage how long he should continue to wait. He clung to the knowledge that he'd gotten two transmissions off before his capture. His last mission had not been entirely a failure. That was a small consolation for him before death, even thought he'd long sense blocked the purpose behind those transmissions from his conscious memory.

His fading strength brought him a measure of peace. Even maintaining basic functioning - keeping his heart beating, his respiration active - was becoming difficult now. He could not last much longer. And with that came a realization. It would be much easier to let go of life now than to keep fighting to maintain that fragile thread. He should perhaps make a decision about that soon.

He heard the slosh of water on the floor, and he licked his dry lips reflexively with a swollen tongue. The room was dank in addition to being so cold. They kept the floor and the walls wet, to tax him more. It was one of the arguments the Romulan had with the Klingons, who'd been eager for more direct methods. He was too depleted to even shiver any more. If the Romulan had been alive, he might have noticed that, and done something to prolong his life, hoping still to break him. But the Klingons missed that critical point. They carried on with their duties, even though they had disagreed with them, arguing for more direct methods, unaware he was dying now in earnest.

"Vulcans are trained to deal with pain," the Romulan had answered them, their consultant on breaking those of Vulcanoid heritage. "Humidity and cold are unfamiliar to them, and attack their defenses more."

The Klingons had muttered something about maiming Spock being more effective.

"Vulcans don't react to disfigurement as humans -or even Klingons - do, and they can regenerate their bodies to a certain extent. This one is very well trained. But he will break, as the others have. It will just take longer with Vulcans than with Rigelians or even with Romulans. It has to do with their disciplines."

The Klingon had retorted that taking the Vulcan apart limb by limb wouldn't take long.

"And what will be the result of that? What did the others do? Kill themselves. And you learned nothing. No, slow and steady. Wear at his defenses until you undermine them without giving him a reason to kill himself. Then we'll have him. That is how we have broken what Vulcans we have. Vulcans revere life - they won't take that step unless they must; it goes against their principles. Breaking a Vulcan must be done **slowly**. With **care**."

Spock had lived in a world of his own mind, a rapidly shrinking mind as he had been frantically blocking everything of importance the Klingons were seeking to learn. Blindfolded and isolated for weeks, apart from the presence of his tormentors, nothing of his past memories was left to him but inconsequentials. Vulcan philosophy. General knowledge. Human diversions - and how Sarek had railed against his dalliances in those emotional arts - music, literature, cinema. But in the weeks of his captivity, when Spock still had perfect recall, those memories had helped sustain him. He'd long lost the capacity for intricate thought - he had not the concentration or stamina for mathematical puzzles, or a theory of physics that needed solution. But he could queue up a novel he had read, a Bradenburg concerto he'd once listened to, a film he had seen, and replay it in his mind, escaping at least a little from his noisome cell. It had helped save his sanity. He thought he should remember to tell Sarek that much if he survived. But now he rather doubted he'd have that opportunity. Pity. His father had always stated such activities had no logical purpose. But then, of course, Sarek wouldn't have conceived of the purpose to which Spock had put them.

Now, the Klingon's words about breaking him, his own captive position, echoed an unblocked memory that in his state struck him as being absurdly humorous. Almost against his will, for he had meant to conceal that he had regained consciousness, Spock gave a choking laugh. "'These things must be done **delicately**," he wheezed, caught up in the incipient hilarity of the scene. "Or you **hurt** the **spell**.'"1 He bent over as much as his bonds would let him, coughing violently - fighting the equivalent of pneumonia from the high humidity and cold, he'd been feverish for days. In his weakened condition, he no longer had the ability to hold the infections at bay.

"What's that, Vulcan?" the Klingon said, his voice ominous, echoing in the chamber.

"Scarecrows don't talk," Spock retorted.

The blow against his head knocked off his blindfold. Even the dim light of the cell dazzled his weakened eyes. But Vulcan eyes can handle light. He blinked, his vision adjusting rapidly to take in the sight of his captors.

"Oh, take his damn hand off," the Romulan said disgustedly. "If you want."

Inexplicably, the Klingon loosened the bond on the wrist to do so. Reveling in his first free movement in days, Spock obligingly knocked the Klingon back against the Romulan. He didn't have much control, but it seems he still had some strength. Both had gone flying. The Romulan didn't get up. The Klingon was disoriented. Swearing, the other Klingon shook his fellow awake. Then they dragged the Romulan out.

"'Begone, before somebody drops a house on you, too.'" Spock threw after them, enjoying the novelty of sight for the first time in ages, and in the freedom of one hand. It was swollen and bleeding, but it functioned.

He used that hand to undo the other restraint, struggling against the numbness in his fingers, and then those around his ankles. Trying to walk proved even more difficult. He fell face down from his chair onto the wet floor, and snuffled and choked as he breathed in the filthy water laying in pools on the floor. He kicked and flailed but he couldn't get to his feet. But his efforts warmed him and at least he wasn't cold any longer. His limbs now flashed with a fever that was so raging that he could no longer dampen it. That thought too struck him as funny, for he was soaked in **damp**.

Sarek always said he had a incongruous sense of humor. For a Vulcan. He had been such a bad child.

He couldn't walk, so he crawled. Because there was a door ahead. Where there was a door, there was an escape. A mechanism. He'd been lavishly, painstakingly, expensively educated. He ought to be able to deal with a mere door mechanism.

He could crawl, he discovered, but he couldn't sit up. He scraped and scratched his fingernails, scrabbling like a rodent against the stone wall, trying to get a purchase, his hands green with the effort, wearing the nails down to bleeding stubs. He wasn't sure for how long.

And then the Klingons came back in again, and he knew his chances were all gone. His strength was bleeding out of him. He couldn't see. Not due to a blindfold, everything was dimming. His lungs were so full of fluid and infection, only a portion of them were functional, and that small portion rapidly succumbing.

"This one's done for," the Klingon said, giving him a kick he didn't feel.

"Well, the interrogator's dead **now**, so-"

"The mindsifter -"

"He won't live long enough for us to hook him up again," the Klingon said.

"We'd better do it anyway," the other said. "He may break in dying. Sometimes they do."

"He's said almost nothing. And when he does speak, he's raving nothing but gibberish," the second said. "What the hell is a jabberwock? Intelligence said it wasn't even Federation standard he was speaking."

"Maybe code for some new Federation weapon."

"As you said, he's done for."

"We have to finish the duty. Help me trundle the device in here."

Spock lay on the ground and thought about being done. It seemed incomplete of him. Something was lacking. Perhaps a utensil?

"Stick a fork in me," he murmured. "**Then** I'll be done." But that wasn't it. He wasn't _**done**_. Couldn't be. He had a vague impression he should be waiting for something. Or someone. He couldn't quite remember who.

He leaned against the wall and thought about waiting. Waiting for them to trundle the mindsifter back in? No. That couldn't be it.

"Jim," he muttered, and that seemed right. He had to wait for Jim. That much he remembered. But not why. Or how. Or who Jim was. Hazel eyes, fair hair? Perhaps. But **how** was becoming the real issue. He felt himself winding down, a clockwork mechanism. Sand ticking through the hourglass in the witch's chamber. The hourglass was almost empty. He could wait for it.

"'It isn't long, my pretty,'" he mumbled. "'It isn't long.'" Though he couldn't imagine what shoes they wanted. He wasn't **wearing** any shoes. Perhaps the witch had them already. Pity. He couldn't use them to get home again.

He could end himself - he knew how to do it. It was a step no Vulcan would take except in extreme exigency. Not for mere pain. But he wasn't in real pain anymore. He felt far removed from his body. Perhaps if he were about to break? But he didn't think he was there yet, even with the threat of the mindsifter about to come through the door. He didn't think he **could** break now. He'd safeguarded his secrets far too well. Too well, don't tell. The jangling, mocking phrase rang through his head like bells and he put his fingers to his suddenly aching temples. He remembered **that** pain.

Perhaps he shouldn't wait for the mindsifter.

The mindsifter came through the door - a big machine they had to man-handle, both of them struggling with maneuvering it. That was foolish of them. He was unrestrained. Outside was brighter light, even discernible to his fading vision. It was the warmth outside that lured him like a siren. He found an unexpected reserve of strength and kicked the trundlers' feet out from under them - easy since he was already on the floor - and got through the door, up to his knees, and then to his feet. He made it half way down the hall before his strength gave way, and he fell to his knees again. And was recaptured. Still just being out of that cold damp room even for a few moments made it worth the effort. He had escaped. A victory of sorts. Now he could die fulfilled.

They dragged him back, their boots sloshing through the wet floor, but this time he barely had strength to struggle as they threw him in the chair and fastened the restraints.

"Just set it to killing strength," one said to the other. "And let's get this over with. The interrogator is gone. What do we care what he says? He says nothing anyway."

"Orders," the other said, puzzling through the settings on the mindsifter. "I've never understood this thing and with the interrogator gone... Anyway, no sense rushing it. He may yet talk. And another interrogator is being sent out from Headquarters."

"He'll be dead before he arrives."

They strapped the leads onto his temples, set the recording computers, and stood warily back as they flipped the switch, watching as the current went through him, causing him to jolt and shudder against the restraints, the metal cutting into his wrists and ankles. The smell of burning skin overlaying the dank dampness of the room.

"Are you getting a signal?" One asked the other.

"He's still blocking it," the Klingon answered, leaning over the scanner readouts. "Damn Vulcan."

"I told you to set it on high."

"You're impatient."

"As well I should be. Torture is no honorable occupation for a Klingon warrior."

"Well, perhaps..."

Spock thought then, through the pain and fire, that it was time to end it. He had waited, patiently. He had tried to escape. Had escaped for a moment. Perhaps the waiting had gone on too long, and for no purpose. How terrible, though, to die in pain and cold, all alone with only enemies at hand.

A commotion outside the cell made the Klingons both turn. Suddenly the room was filled with red shirts. They had full body armor over their shirts, phasers drawn, phaser rifles over their shoulders. Far from alarming, the sight was familiar, even comforting to Spock. It was the most interesting thing he had watched in weeks, even with all the old films he had played behind his blindfolded eyelids. Both Klingons went down very satisfactorily onto the wet floor. Someone called, "Captain. In here!"

Another man came running, skidding abruptly to a stop on the slick surface as he took in the room. This one had a gold shirt, even more comforting to Spock. But it wasn't the shirt, so much as the face. He knew that face. Hazel eyes. Fair hair. This was who he was supposed to wait for. Rescue, at hand.

"Turn that damn thing off," Kirk exclaimed in horror when he saw Spock under the active mindsifter.

"How?" one redshirt answered.

Slapping his phaser on his belt, Kirk searched blindly on the control panel.

"You hit a wrong setting, you'll kill him." They were undoing his hands, but were hesitant to touch the burning leads on his temples

"Spock?" Kirk said, frowning through the unfamiliar controls.

"There," Spock said through chattering teeth, pointing with a freed and shaking hand. And Kirk turned off the machine. Spock slumped in pained darkness. Sounds went on around him, but he was relieved that it was over. He could go now. Movie over, done but for the credits. The ending had been fascinating. Well worth the wait. And now there was a light, high above, beckoning him. No doubt the exit sign. Showing him the way. He need merely follow it.

"Signal for beam up," he heard Kirk say, to the red shirts. Kirk's hands were busy disconnecting the band of the mindsifter from around Spock's head. Spock's eyes were closed but he could still see in spite of that, from a position far above on the ceiling. Himself looking down on the scene. Foreshortened figures, inconsequential now. Curious film. Time to go. But which way? With the beckoning light? With these odd humans?

"We have to bring him out to the corridor, Captain. This room's shielded."

Spock felt himself pulled into sturdy arms, and flung over a shoulder. "Grab all that stuff," Kirk said. "See if you can get that device out in the corridor too."

They were going. He had better go with them, and his remains. **They** were familiar, and the light was unknown. The corridor disappeared around him, and another room reappeared. Familiar too, if unknown. A ship? But he didn't know the ship. All that was gone. So long, all gone. Past time for him to go.

"Bones, he's bad." Kirk said. Spock found himself laid on a gurney standing ready. A man in blue stood next to it. Spock liked the blue tunic he was wearing. It had a comfortable, familiar appearance to his eyes, even more so than the red and gold ones. He wanted one just like it.

"Get us out of here, Scotty," Kirk ordered.

"My god," McCoy said. "I can barely find a pulse. Let's get him to sickbay. I can't do anything here. Now."

A race through the corridors, flashing lights, and the passing shocked faces of crewmembers. "Hang on, Spock," Kirk said, clutching his hand tight, green blood staining the human fingers. "Hang **on**."

"Jim, I have to warn you. He's barely alive."

"He'll live." Kirk said fiercely.

Another table, another device, lights winking ominously over his head. Leads strapped on his body, hyposprays flashing.

"No," Spock said, struggling, panicking now that in the midst of rescue he'd be hooked up to yet another device. Betrayed and tortured yet again. "No!"

Above him, McCoy paused a moment, looking thoughtfully from the readings to his patient's face.

"Don't stop," Kirk said, looking from Spock to the falling indicators to his Chief Surgeon. "Bones!"

"He's dying, Jim. And he will fight me with the last of his strength and die, if I don't convince him to let me treat him." McCoy bent over, speaking into Spock's face. "Spock! It's McCoy. Leonard McCoy. Give him two cc's of benjisidrene, Christine, just enough to keep his heart going," McCoy muttered in an aside. "Try not to let him see the hypo. Remember how he is with that. Spock, do you understand?"

"Jim!" Spock said. "Don't let them."

"I'm here," Kirk took his hand again.

"You came." Spock said clutching his hand with surprising strength for a moment, before it went lax.

"No one could have stopped me," Kirk assured him. "And you're going to be okay. But you have to let Bones treat you."

"No," Spock muttered. He wasn't sure of much, but he was sure of that. "Beads," he gasped. "Rattles."

"Pneumonia, tachycardia, dehydration, starvation, fever of 112," McCoy dictated tersely into the medical log record. "I'll rattle him. Christine, set up an IV set, out of his vision. I've got to talk him into this. Hell of a thing, when a Doctor has to convince a patient to be treated. We're trying to help you, you stubborn Vulcan."

"He can't just heal hi-" Christine began.

"Not now." McCoy brushed Spock's bangs back from his face, exposing the burned and discolored skin on his temples. He winced, not at the burns, which were not life-threatening in themselves, but what they implied. "Spock, you're back on the _Enterprise_. Safe. We're going to help you. Do you know me? Spock, **look** at **me**! It's McCoy."

Spock's eyes flickered. He looked up at the doctor. Blue eyes unlike any Klingon or Romulan. Blue shirt. Cool hand on his fevered brow. Familiar hand. His eyes flicked from McCoy to Jim. "Let go. Of me."

"I think we're hurting him," McCoy said, nodding at Kirk's hand, still clutching his First Officer's.

Kirk released Spock's hand reluctantly. Spock slumped, his eyes closing.

"Spock, stay with us. You know where you are now, right? Who we are?" McCoy put a hand on Spock's cheek, turning his face back to him, brushing back his hair to trace fingertips against Spock's temples, gambling on Spock's telepathic abilities to recognize them even through fever and stress. "We're your friends. Here to help you. You know us, right?"

Spock opened his eyes again, looking from one to the other anxious faces. Up from McCoy's blue eyes across to Jim's hazel ones. Not Klingon or Romulan. Human. Friends. "Bones. Jim."

"That's right. And you're going to let us help you, too, right?" McCoy asked.

"That's an order, Commander," Kirk said. "Acknowledged?"

Spock looked into those familiar compelling hazel eyes and relented. "Aye...sir."

"Good enough for me," McCoy said, and took the IV needle from Christine, and slid it into a vein. Spock shuddered and moaned. He patted Spock's shoulder. "Barbaric, I know. But you need fluids, drugs and at least sugar to keep you going. This is the fastest way. It won't hurt you."

"His heart's failing. Kidney's barely functioning," Christine said. "And he needs respiratory support. His lungs-"

"Slow down the IV to quarter speed. He's Vulcan and dehydrated," McCoy said, adjusting the IV set himself. "Too much fluid too fast, and he'll develop congestive heart failure." McCoy eyed the readings anxiously after the adjustment. "All his major organs are close to failing. Amazing he's survived this long. You were just barely holding on, weren't you, Spock?" He threw a thermal cover over the Vulcan. "But we've got you now. So you stay with us. Right here with us. We're going to pull you back."

"You won't have to tie him down," Kirk said watching worriedly.

"Not if he doesn't fight. And if he does, he'll use up what trace of reserves he's got and die before we leave orbit. He doesn't have much stamina left. Hell, he's past any reserve, it's inconceivable that he's still with us. Talk to him, Jim, while I take some readings and set up a treatment plan. He'll recognize your voice and I don't want him fading out and thinking he's back in Klingon hands. There's only a whisper of him left."

There was a whistle of the com and Chapel turned the viewscreen so that Kirk could see Uhura.

"Captain, Admiral Komack wants an update, sir. Can you come to the bridge?"

"No! Tell him we retrieved Spock. And a bunch of data."

"Add that Spock's condition is critical," McCoy noted.

Uhura disappeared from the screen and then returned. "We're ordered to Starbase 11 to receive further orders from Commodore Mendez. At that point, you'll transfer Commander Spock to Federation Intelligence Services for debriefing."

"Bones?" Kirk said.

"He's in bad shape, Jim," McCoy muttered. "Rarely seen anyone closer to dying and still aware. First let's get him stabilized. Then we'll worry about brass. Christine, raise the bed temp ten more degrees, gradually - he's got no fat on his body. If it comes to that, we might have to turn the sickbay into a desert and work in our shorts."

"Do you want me to bathe him, Doctor?" Christine asked, her nose wrinkled a bit.

"Hell no. Not till we get him marginally stable. Put even warm water against his skin right now and he'll go into shock and that'll finish him."

"A sterilite," she said prudently.

"In a bit," McCoy said. "Get me another cc of benjisidrene, and another IV set with pan spectrum Vulcan antivirals and antibiotics. We're going to throw everything we've got at these infections. And not a minute too soon." He pushed back Spock's hair back from his forehead. Normally gleaming it was now stiff and dull with dirt and dried blood and sweat. He tracked his pulse from a vein in his temple, isolating it from the readings on the board. "A bit stronger than before. We're going to get you through this, Spock."

"Warm," Spock muttered, his body shuddering violently in reaction.

"First time in a long while, I bet," McCoy said, nodding, tucking the thermal cover closer. "Sleep if you can, Spock. No one's going to hurt you now."

Spock looked up at McCoy, and across to Jim, who nodded, his hazel eyes full. Spock nodded, closing his eyes. Rescued. At last.

He woke much later, a different place, a different time. But to the same familiarly irritating voice.

"He's **asleep**," McCoy muttered to another person in the room. "And I don't think he should be disturbed just for an exam."

"The process requires-"

"He hasn't been following it anyway," McCoy said, striving to be _sotto voce_, but sounding like a klaxon to Spock's sensitive ears. Spock stirred a little, wondering if he should sit up and admit his wakefulness. But before he'd even fractionally moved, he fell back dizzily, amazed at his own weariness. The long night's activities, the music, the euphorics in his system, had indeed caught up with him. He kept forgetting he had no real stamina. Once down, he stayed down.

"Your benchmarks were useless," McCoy muttered accusingly to the healer. "And he doesn't like the damn diet."

"Doesn't **like**?" the Vulcan said, with a trace of amazement coloring his disciplined tone at the human phrase.

"Won't eat it. Hell, even if I were as starving as he was, I wouldn't eat that stuff. Come back early this afternoon after he wakes, and we'll regroup. Or, hell no, we might be away for that _Enterprise_ send-off by then. I'll call you and we'll set something up."

"I'll have to discuss **that** with Sarek," Sivesh's aide said.

"You do that," McCoy said. "And so will I," he added, half in threat as the healer left in a huff.

"Vulcans," McCoy breathed irritably, as the door closed. "All the planets in the Federation, and I'm stuck on a planet full of damn Vulcans." He reached down and pulled the coverlet up over Spock's shoulders. "Shhh," he said, when Spock stirred again. "Thought he'd better not take a reading with you maybe still half dizzy from euphorics." He put a hand hard on Spock's shoulder, pushing him down, absently brushed back hair gleaming now with renewed health. "Go back to sleep," he said, a muttered order, rife with exasperation and his own form of irascible affection. "I sent him away."

And Spock gave a soft relieved sigh. Before McCoy had even closed the door behind him, he had.

But this time, he slept without dreams or memories.

_To be continued..._

1 Wizard of Oz.


	48. Chapter 48

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 48**

McCoy paused a moment to survey his sleeping patient before leaving the room. At least Spock had more color from days under the Eridani suns. He no longer had the pale, bloodless look of something found under a rock - or extracted from a damp dungeon. In fact, he looked a little flushed, but McCoy put that off to euphorics, and closing the door behind him as silently as possible, made his way downstairs.

He worried that he, as well as Jim, was losing objectivity. It was a bad practice for a doctor to become too invested in his patients. Generally he strove for a balance between his own humanity and a doctor's required distance. Spock would say that balance was skewed toward the former and he kept McCoy on guard with that. But at the moment, McCoy felt like unabashedly erring on the side of emotion, come what may. And past time to have a certain discussion with Sarek about Spock's future. Inquiring down at the main level, he discovered Jim was still gone, Amanda had long since left to teach her classes, but Sarek was working in his home office.

McCoy wound through stone corridors that all tended to look alike, asking the occasional Vulcan, until he found it. Sivesh's aide was there, standing before Sarek's desk. Sarek himself was speaking to Sivesh on his viewscreen. Apparently a conference was in progress. When Sarek saw McCoy in his doorway, he gestured McCoy in. "I was going to seek your attendance, Doctor."

"I presumed you were." McCoy nodded to Sivesh's aide. "I gather we have something to discuss."

"Indeed," Sarek frowned slightly. "Sivesh, and I as well, have some concerns about these recent developments."

On the viewscreen, Sivesh was wearing the equivalent of Vulcan scrubs, and he looked a bit tired, as if he had been up all night. McCoy felt simultaneously sympathetic and envious - he was beginning to miss hospital work. The _Enterprise's_ rampant community of healthy youngsters seldom gave him much opportunity to use his doctoring skills, except for trauma. "It was my understanding that you were here to supervise Spock's recovery," Sivesh said, sounding testy as well as tired. "I am at a loss to understand why the treatment plan we so recently discussed has failed to be followed," he added. "That you did nothing to enforce adherence."

"Or perhaps," Sarek said as if seeking to mitigate the healer's rare trespass against Vulcan control, "Merely to notify Sivesh or his aides - or myself," he added, "that the schedule had been abandoned."

McCoy had a tendency, learned through long confrontations with Spock, that nothing disconcerted Vulcans more than a human being unabashedly human. When pulled onto the carpet, as it seemed was his present role in this conference, a Vulcan would no doubt be drawn up at near attention, striving for ultra control, voice in a monotone. Instead, McCoy perversely slouched against the doorframe, eying all the Vulcans present and not, and drawled. "Well, we'll prob'ly need to revisit that plan, when Spock's up for it. So far, it's not been a good fit for him."

"Not a good fit?" Sivesh repeated, raising a brow in confusion at this human idiom.

"The schedule's too inflexible." McCoy clarified, abandoning his Georgia drawl if it meant he had to state everything twice. "It needs adjustment. Upon reflection, we probably should have discussed the version you sent after it was delivered before attempting to implement it."

"But surely the purpose of the schedule," Sarek said, "is to **impose** order-"

"As I told you," Sivesh's aide broke in, incredulous and in a Vulcan way, excited at this human aberration, "all order has been **disregarded**."

McCoy rolled his eyes at this hyperbole. "Not everything needs to be in black and white."

"A scientific order," Sarek continued with dogged patience, giving the healer a repressive glance that silenced him, "against which variables could be tested and measured to determine the best course of treatment. To my understanding," Sarek finished, apparently drawing upon his diplomatic skills for sweet reasonableness against both human capriciousness and Vulcan dogma, "an unvarying routine was the intended goal."

"Spock doesn't like the diet."

Even Sarek closed his eyes briefly at this. Sivesh said something to Sarek that even with a universal translator present in his office, didn't translate.

"I will discuss this further with Dr. McCoy," Sarek said to the healers, as if deciding he was the only one capable of addressing such capriciously wanton illogic. "And set up a new appointment with you, Sivesh."

Sivesh closed his screen window. The healer present inclined his head to Sarek, gave McCoy a raised brow, and left.

"He doesn't **like** it," Sarek repeated, now with an discernible edge to his voice when the door had safely closed behind the aide and they were alone. "Doctor, what possible relevance could that have to Spock's condition and ultimate recovery?"

"If you want him to eat," McCoy said simply, "it helps if he likes what he's eating."

"My son is," Sarek glanced at a document on his computer, "thirty-two point four percent below normal mass for his frame. "What is essential is that he recover his nutritional status. What he **likes** is immaterial."

"Maybe it's hard for you to imagine, but even starving people can have preferences," McCoy said.

"I am actually well familiar with the experience of starvation, Doctor," Sarek said, eyes stony. 1"from past experience. No imagining required. Preference in such a state is immaterial."

McCoy shook his head and settled himself into a chair, sans invitation. "I didn't know that. Maybe you have. Regardless, Spock isn't you."

Sarek drew back at that, shoulders stiffening, eyes narrowing as if this were an familiar and offensive argument, even an insult, that he had no intention of conceding to or accepting.

"Look, I didn't mean to hit a nerve," McCoy said, apologetic, seeing the Vulcan's reaction before Sarek regained control. "Or to imply some criticism of Spock in that. Or you, for that matter. He's just a different person."

"A different person," Sarek repeated, as if mistrusting what McCoy meant by that.

"He's had different experiences," McCoy said, striving to recover Sarek's good will. It belatedly occurred to McCoy that over a long history of raising his half Vulcan son, Sarek was perhaps overly sensitive to any implication Spock was unlike him, or in any way unVulcan. "He has different preferences. Maybe even different requirements." Seeing Sarek was unconvinced and unmoved, McCoy tried again. "As physiologically similar as he is to you, he's not **quite** Vulcan. He makes different choices."

Sarek had frozen into utter stillness during this speech, regarding him entirely without expression, perhaps a dangerous sign for a Vulcan. But the end of it really did seem to offend him, even if manifest only by a more rigid lack of reaction. It took Sarek another moment to answer, and when he did speak, his voice was icy. Regardless of his good intentions, McCoy realized he had put his foot into it saying that particular phrase to Sarek.

"It was my understanding your presence on Vulcan was to supervise and manage my son's recovery - including such choices."

"To a point," McCoy allowed.

"And that we had agreed on a recovery plan."

"But it's ultimately Spock's decision to follow it."

"Is it, Doctor?"

"Don't you think so?" McCoy pushed.

"Not if he is making incorrect, potentially damaging choices, particularly if in a confused or incompetent state."

McCoy raised a brow at that. "You don't think he's competent to know what he wants to **eat**?" he asked with rife sarcasm.

"The more relevant point being that what he **wants** is hardly material. And his desires in this case have been detrimental to his well-being. Clearly at present he is not fully competent to choose what is best for him in managing his recovery."

"I see." McCoy sat back, eying the Vulcan. "And who **is** competent Sarek?"

Sarek tilted his head, his eyes narrowed, obviously still unforgiving of McCoy's previous remark. "You appear to have just proven it is obviously not you."

McCoy drew a deep breath. "Well, I guess we were edging on coming to this for days, and now we have. Spock's struggling with a lot right now, I'll admit. And he may not be fully competent to command a starship, for example." His voice hardened. "But competence on personal matters is not one of his issues."

"His memory is faulty. He is not always cognizant of his surroundings. In these circumstances, as in others, he must be guided."

"He has post traumatic stress, yes. Partly exacerbated by nutritional difficulties and exhaustion, part from damage inflicted by the mind sifter, and probably partly emotional. But when he's not having an episode, he's fully competent to make his own choices."

"Not if they are wrong choices, Doctor. His recovery is paramount."

"It may take him longer to recover his own way," McCoy admitted. "But he is making progress. And I'd think you'd find that delay to your advantage if you want him to remain here. Speed is what Jim needs. Delay, obviously, keeps him here. At least for the moment." McCoy added in tacit warning.

"Your assessment is faulty." There was a signal on Sarek's communications terminal, which he resolutely ignored.

"You **don't** want him here?" McCoy asked.

Sarek closed his eyes briefly. "Doctor, I have found your continual, indeed your almost exclusive emphasis on emotional issues and desires to the detriment of everything else pertinent to Spock's recovery not only irrelevant but profoundly disturbing. I have tried to accept it, for the sake of my son and my wife. But I think you cannot be competent to manage him further."

"I am emotional about this. I'm human. And I don't find that lacking in pertinence for Spock, given he is as much human as Vulcan." He said that knowing that it was to Sarek the equivalent of showing a red flag to a bull.

A Vulcan came to the door of Sarek's office. "There is an urgent communiqué from the Federation Undersecretary. You will need to take it now to make morning scheduling at Council Keep."

"A **moment**," Sarek said tersely to his aide, who at that tone promptly disappeared.

"Better make it a **few** moments, Sarek," McCoy said. "I've got some things to say to you. And I don't think there's anything you've really got on your appointment calendar that's worth more than your son. Personally that is. Emotionally. And don't give me a lot of Vulcan doublespeak about duty. I've heard all that from Spock."

Sarek eyed McCoy as if sizing an opponent and finding him negligible, but the contest necessary. "If you will excuse me, Doctor, I will require a moment to reorder my schedule."

McCoy walked around the office while Sarek made soft voiced arrangements. The Vulcan finally rose and closed the door, meeting McCoy's eyes directly, very close and very near. "What is it you wish to say to me then, Doctor?"

"We have a problem. I don't think Spock can to return to Starfleet."

Sarek flicked a brow at that and moved back behind his desk. "The latter seems quite obvious. And while regrettable in some respects, it is not unexpected. But I am not understanding your _we_. Perhaps it may be somewhat a problem for Starfleet. For your Captain. But surely personnel changes in such a volatile profession are to be expected. Starfleet's issues are not mine."

"It might be regrettable for Spock."

"He will adjust." Sarek said it like a threat and a promise.

"I hope so. I haven't seen him deal with the prospect too well so far."

"Once you and his Captain depart, he will be able to put his Starfleet life behind him."

"Will he?" McCoy got up and paced. "I think there's only two things that's held Spock back from tendering his resignation. One is his fear that he'd break Jim's heart. Not romantically, not like that," he said, seeing Sarek's eyes narrow. "But Jim's had more than his share of tragedy in his life. What he loves, whether it's the _Enterprise_ or a dear friend and colleague, he holds tightly."

Sarek appeared unmoved by this. "Given Captain Kirk's profession is a volatile, dangerous one, and frequent personnel changes must be the hallmark of his career, that is regrettable. Perhaps he should consider changing it, or his attitude. But I don't see how that affects Spock."

"Not so very frequent. Spock served with Chris Pike for eleven years, four months, five days. **His** words," McCoy added, seeing Sarek note his non human precision. "Though his relationship with Pike was more junior officer to mentor, and with Jim is more one of contemporaries. I was thinking, that given your frequent travels off planet, and Pike's long tenure as Spock's commanding officer, Pike probably spent more time with your son, one on one, guiding him, mentoring him, than you did. Not to mention Spock's approach to each of your illnesses was markedly different."

Sarek almost seemed amused by that attempt. "If you mean to wound me by the comparison, Doctor, that is a tactic that perhaps is designed for humans. And Pike being human, his solution for him was a human one, however regrettably accomplished."

Seeing he hadn't drawn Sarek there, McCoy shrugged. "Just pointing out your relationship with Spock might require a bit of retrieving. And this might be the time to take advantage of the occasion to do that."

"You were discussing your Captain's issues," Sarek returned, unmoved.

"It's not entirely Jim's problem. Given your marriage, I can't believe that you don't understand emotional ties. But Jim and Spock are very close friends. Where Jim loves, he loves deeply. He loves Spock. And I hardly need to remind you, based on the Pike incident, that Spock can form exactly those same close personal ties. He risked the death penalty just to give his former Captain a more comfortable convalescence."

"Spock lacks maturity. He will come to better control his emotions in time."

"But maybe part of why Spock does form those ties, control or not, and feels so deeply is the same reason Jim does. Spock hasn't had that much acceptance in his life, that he isn't profoundly affected by a friend's love. And that's what concerns me, for both of them, but particularly for Spock. Bad enough he has to lose his career, if it comes to that. But I don't want him to lose a real home, real friends on the _Enterprise_, to a sterile life of duty on Vulcan."

Sarek flicked a brow. "His mother, to some extent, considers his life on the _Enterprise_ sterile and restricted, Doctor."

"She has a point. A military life leaves some things to be desired. But it has been his home. He has friends there who love him. Does he believe he has that here?"

"He has a duty here."

"By birth. But he made a personal and professional commitment to the _Enterprise_ and his current commission. From choice. And duty oriented as he is, combined with those personal ties, he might just try to make it back to the _Enterprise_, whatever the cost to him, shattered as he is, even before he's ready. If he were a low level officer, it would be one thing. But he's second in command. He has to be ready before I can allow that. If I can't, I want him to have a comparable place."

"His place is here."

"Comparable personally. Emotionally. One that meets all his needs. Because if he feels like he has no place on Vulcan, if it isn't **home** to him the way the _Enterprise_ has become, then he might make a really wrong alternative choice. He might take off for somewhere or something less estimable than Starfleet. Some hare brained scheme. Or if he doesn't get help with that and the issues from his captivity, maybe disappear somewhere deep and dark."

Sarek drew up at that. "Are you implying-"

"It's not in his psych profile," McCoy said, "but a term under Klingon torture can have a profound effect, and it's possible. I don't believe he thinks he can stay here."

Sarek flared. "That is nonsense."

"Maybe I should qualify that. That he can stay here and be himself."

"And who else would he be?"

"As himself. Not the clone of a Vulcan son you have imagined him to be in your mind, that you keep holding him up against, and judging him as falling short on. And with Starfleet closed to him, if it comes to that, who knows? That may be it for him. I'd like to think he has other friends, other resources. But I can't be sure how far even he would take that. And however much he may choose them willingly, it's not a good thing if he feels forced into them because he **doesn't** feel welcome at home. He may just give up trying to believe there is **any** place for him."

Sarek bridled at that. "I have accepted him."

"I don't mean saying 'Howdy do' or 'pass the salt' at dinner. True, that type of accepting – which it's taken you eighteen years to achieve, you have finally managed. But have you really accepted him for who he is? I'm not sure you have."

"You do not know what I have done, for and because of that child." Sarek said darkly.

"Sarek, I am forced to point out that you want to jump all over him now over his choice of **meals**. How far will that acceptance extend to a choice of lifestyles?"

"You do not understand the situation."

"Maybe I do better than you think. I saw how you reacted when I said he wasn't fully Vulcan. You didn't like it." McCoy raised a brow. "Yeah. That **word**." He settled back. "Look, I understand you've tried hard to fend off the prejudice he's encountered here, in this supposedly IDIC loving society, by claiming that he is Vulcan. But think how that looks to him. You're so busy claiming he's Vulcan, you are ignoring who and what he really is."

"You are being emotional, Doctor."

"We're all emotional, Sarek. Even Vulcans. Even you. And he's been my patient for four years. I think I'm a fair judge. I've combed through all his records since he's been in Fleet." He leaned forward, across Sarek's pristine desk, challenging him. "What exactly do you think I've been doing here on Vulcan? Gone every day, half the day, as I've been. What do you think I've been looking at? I know far more than you think."

Sarek straightened, his eyes widening.

McCoy shrugged, backing off, letting Sarek ponder that for a moment. "It's been my first duty here to get Spock functional. To get him well."

"And it seems you are failing in that regard. Sivesh's regime-"

"In a way that is healthy for him. Not merely expeditious."

Sarek was silent at that.

"Part of getting him well, was trying to make sure he had healthy comfortable options, when he's reached whatever recovery he can manage. I wanted Vulcan to be one of those, in spite of his past experiences here." He gave Sarek a look. "And to that end, I've seen every medical chart on him, here and at the healers' enclave. Every note in Mark Abrams' file. I've read every school record. I've seen the test results, when you were afraid at two years old, that he would never speak. I've know what you told him when he was three and he got sealed to Council. What you told him when he was five, before that Kahs Wan test. What you did to him when he was eight. My god, I'm amazed he even could go on after what you did to that kid when he was eight. The Klingons had nothing on you, Sarek."

"That's enough," Sarek said, rising behind his desk.

"No, it's not," McCoy said, blue eyes flashing, rising in turn, now on a roll. "Because something else happened when he was eight, didn't it? He got old enough to really start to master those control lessons those Vulcan tutors were giving him. And if there's one thing we both know about Spock, it's that he's smart. And determined. So he ran with them. And boy did he run. A one eighty turn around, didn't he?"

"He chose to follow the Vulcan way."

"A child that young doesn't **choose,** Sarek. But let's go with that. Your life suddenly got a lot easier, didn't it? Amanda didn't leave you. She had almost walked out and taken her son with her. But she stayed. Spock fell into line. Your boy became Vulcan. Naturally he did – when the alternative was to lose everything – his father, the security of his parents' relationship, his planet, his identity. That or fall into line - your line. Some choice. And all **you** had to do was pile it on. So long as he could take it, you thought. And he took it, didn't he? What was he – four years ahead of his peers – fully Vulcan peers, in the most academically advanced schools on Vulcan? Two advanced degrees from the science academy before most of his peers were out of basic education. Gifted, gifted, gifted."

"Proving I was correct. Given appropriate opportunities to master his skills, Spock manifests as fully Vulcan."

"Was he? Enough that he fit in?" McCoy drew back, settling into a chair. "There was not, of course, much chance for socialization, was there, with him so far ahead of his age group? Apparently a lot of bullying, for all his peers were supposed to be full blooded Vulcans with all that vaunted control. Still, he did all that, threw himself into that past schedule, burned himself up, to make everything right at home. To please you." McCoy paused, sighing slightly, shaking his head. "I'm not saying that's all your fault, Sarek. You see, I know Spock pretty well now. I've seen him do the same thing over and over again. Take himself to extremes to do the most impossible things. Steal the _Enterprise_ to save Chris Pike. Work himself close to death to pull Jim out of all manner of scrapes. That's what he does." His eyes narrowed. "But at least to some extent, he's that way because **you** taught him that's what he had to do. To be your son. To have any kind of a life. That's his pattern." He pointed a finger at the Vulcan. "And the question in my mind is, what will he do now, if he can't manage some new pattern you set for him, and he is marooned here. He's not fit enough yet to burn himself up in anything. If he can't make it into Starfleet, can he face you with a handicap? If he can't be a perfect Vulcan anymore?"

"That is **not** why he chose Starfleet."

McCoy sat back and spread out his hands. "No. You're right. That's another issue. There he was at eighteen. Two advanced degrees. Outwardly so Vulcan. And only he knew how fake it all was. Not even Amanda knew. She'd given up years before trying to have any real influence there. But you – you **really** didn't have a clue. You really thought you could make him fully Vulcan simply by stamping out every single sign of humanity in him, rejecting every human need, and disciplining every human fault."

"You have no real understanding of the Vulcan way, Doctor, or of the need for Vulcan control, Doctor. I did what was necessary for Spock."

"I'll grant that you wanted him accepted in Vulcan society. And you worked to give him every chance. But not as hard as he worked, Sarek. And you forgot one thing. It didn't matter a damn to Spock if he was accepted into Vulcan society, when his own father never accepted him. The whole thing was a colossal farce to him. And he couldn't live that lie forever. So what could he do? When he was too young to live on his own, he did what he had to do, to keep his family together. He became a super Vulcan. When he got old enough to leave, he set **you** a test. It was a hard one. But not as hard as the tests you'd set for him. He knew how you felt about Starfleet. You and Amanda talk shop in front of him enough that he knew your position on that. He applied to Fleet. He had good, logical reasons for wanting to go there. Starfleet may be a hazardous service, but the Academy is an awful safe place for a sheltered kid to run to. Pass their entrance exams, which were a snap for Spock, and follow their rules – and after your rules, those were ridiculously easy – and they educate you, feed, clothe, and take care of you for up to four long years. And if you accept a commission upon graduating, you're covered for life. So long as you survive. He'd get to see the galaxy – the one you sheltered him from – learn a little about humanity – that you denied him – and maybe even make some friends - something he'd never had much opportunity for on Vulcan. And all **you** had to do was say 'Yes, son. Give it a try. You're four years ahead of your peers anyway. The Science Academy will still be here when you get back.' Hell, if you'd said that, he might not even have gone there. There were a lot less drastic ways to get the life experiences he thought he needed then."

"I do not regret my actions," Sarek retorted. "Starfleet was the wrong choice for Spock. And after mastering all that he had as a child, it was foolish to abandon that lifestyle after he was finally ready to move into adult society."

"But that wasn't the **point**, Sarek," McCoy said, his arms raised in exasperation. "If he'd told you he wanted to join the circus, you should have said, 'Well son, I may not agree with that choice, but I'll grant you have a right to try it. Because after ten years of jumping through my hoops, you certainly deserve to experience some of the things you want to know.'"

"It was my responsibility to protect him from those things. My failure was that I did **not** prevent it. And if I had, he would not have ended up in Klingon hands."

"And if you had done what I suggested, maybe he wouldn't have had to leave home, and thus end up in Klingon hands. You had better think twice before you chase him away from home again. You may like his next choice even less."

"My point being, he should not be making choices in such an emotional state."

McCoy sighed. "Maybe you just don't have the capacity to understand this. I don't get it. You seem to have a relationship with Amanda that accepts her humanity."

"She is not Vulcan."

"Why is it so wrong that Spock is part human?"

Sarek's eyes widened at this. "It isn't wrong."

"That's not how it appears to me. Or to Spock."

"It is not optimum, for Spock to aspire to less than he can achieve."

"Optimum?" McCoy said amazed. "What the hell more optimum can you expect from him?" He shook his head. "I think you do love him. But that's not enough. Because he doesn't think that you accept him, he can't believe you love him. Do you understand, Sarek? Your son is probably the most loyal, dedicated, **loving** individuals I've ever known. Anyone who has ever given him half a chance, Chris Pike, Jim, he throws himself in their service wholeheartedly. Just the way he did for you, for ten years. Hoping against hope, that he wasn't doing it all in vain. With Pike, with Jim, he knows they value him. And if you ask **them** what kind of a friend he's been, they would need a year to tell you. They trust him implicitly. He trusts them. But I'm pretty sure he doesn't have a fraction of that kind of trust with you."

"I was not a friend, Doctor. I was his parent. And that implies a duty to raise him properly. Not indulge him because it was easier to do so."

"As a parent, it's your job to listen, and to adapt to your child's needs, not consider just what you think is best for him. Whether it was because you were fighting prejudice, or because it was what you wanted, or just what you thought best for him, you ignored what he was, and tried to make him into something he wasn't. And when he stepped out of line, you didn't merely disapprove. You kicked him to the curb."

Sarek eyes flashed, and rose and turned away.

McCoy followed him with his eyes. "He doesn't hold a grudge against you even for that. He loves you in spite of it. His mother too. There's not a mean bone in his body. No, he blames himself. He thinks, still to this day, that there's something wrong with him that he can't live up to you. But here's the crux of the problem. He doesn't trust you, hell either **one** of you, neither you nor Amanda, to accept him enough that he has a place here. And that leaves me in a hell of a dilemma. I don't know what I can do with him. What's going to happen to him. He can't go back to Starfleet yet. He knows that. But he's delaying, in part because he's got no place else to go."

"He is here, Doctor. He agreed to return home."

"He's here with his Starfleet friends to buffer him. It's shore leave. He feels safe in that bubble of non-demand. He's not thinking past that right now. What I worry about is how comfortable and safe he's going to feel when we leave, if he says behind alone."

Sarek turned back to McCoy. "Not safe? How can he consider himself safe in Starfleet and not safe here?"

"Emotionally safe."

Sarek shook his head, mystified. "I don't understand."

"I don't think he's up for another conflict with you in his condition."

Sarek stared at McCoy for a long moment, unseeingly, as if he were calculating something. "Perhaps that's all to the best, if it means he will follow my advice toward his recovery."

"Oh, Sarek," McCoy sighed and put his head in his hands. "I don't know what else I can **say** to you."

"What do you want of me, Doctor?" Sarek asked testily. "Because so far, you have brought me mistaken assumptions, threats, insults, and dire predictions. I have ignored those, because you do not understand the Vulcan way. But you have suggested no practical course."

"I doubt he can face the possibility of that situation occurring again, if he's not able to defend himself."

"Defend himself?" Sarek said incredulously.

"Not physically. Just... Sarek, he's holding on to recovery by a very fragile thread. And you're damn powerful in his eyes. At some level, he's afraid at least of displeasing or disappointing you again." Seeing Sarek's disbelief, he persisted. "You do understand that, don't you? He stormed out of the house because you criticized his choices at dinner. What happens if you two get into a real conflict? Where will he go next?"

"If that were true, he would not be disobeying."

"But that's part of the point. He's afraid of losing what he has become, what he's learned, to become your little clone because he can't fight you yet. He values what he's accomplished, his view of himself, even if you never have. What does it matter if he physically survived the Klingons, if he comes back to Vulcan to lose himself here?"

Sarek shook his head slightly, turning away as if exasperated. "You have a mistaken view of Vulcan disciplines."

"Tell me this, Sarek. What if Spock's human side were dominant?"

The Vulcan moved to face him. "It is not. So your speculation is irrelevant."

"Not physically. Emotionally." McCoy stared at Sarek. "Spock knows something that you don't. He knows he's not Vulcan. Past all doubt."

"He is."

"That's your opinion. He doesn't believe it. He never has. And know this - it doesn't really matter what you believe, except that your holding that attitude hurts him further. What matters is what he **knows**."

"It does if I am expected to help him."

"Even if you **are** right - and I not sure you know who he is past the fiction he's played out for you those first eighteen years, parental bond or not - let's just operate on the assumption that he's more human than you ever suspected. Can you accept him? Think hard about that. Because if you can, we need to somehow get Spock to understand that. And that is going to take a whole lot of soul bearing to get him to trust. And if you can't Sarek, then you might as well just kick him to the curb the way you did eighteen years ago, and say good riddance when you do. Wherever he ends up, he's going to be dying a slow painful death. Whatever the Klingons did to him, or perhaps just coming home, facing this decision, has pulled away all the polite fictions he's relied upon for decades and torn them to shreds. He can't deal with this situation without some help. Your help would be optimum. If you can give the help he needs."

Sarek shook his head. "That is why I brought him home."

"Home or not, he's still lost. He's falling with nothing and no one to clutch onto to break that fall. He hasn't been able to mold himself back into a Starfleet officer yet. His friends are all in Fleet. He can't live on the _Enterprise_ except as a working officer. And even if Jim were willing to sacrifice his career, Spock would never let him. So that rules that option out. And **he** doesn't think he's Vulcan enough to make it **here**."

"He is."

"He isn't functioning. Sure, he can walk in the garden. He can sit through dinner without falling apart most of the time. He can sleep through the night, most nights. During the day he can talk about inconsequentials. He can think, if it's not too taxing. He can listen while Amanda reads _Alice in Wonderland_ to him. He can read for twenty minutes, maybe, before his concentration shatters. He can play music. I watched him fix an electronic problem. But he's not up to much that's taxing yet."

"He needs more time to recover."

"That's what we hope. Even expect. But it going to take longer. And there's the chance that he may never be up to more."

"You are being defeatist. We will get the best of care for him. Remedial instructors, tutors-"

McCoy slammed his palm down. "My god, Sarek, no matter what I say to you still don't **get** it!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what you did **before**!"

Sarek frowned at him, a line between the classic Vulcan brows. "And he did well."

"Eighteen years in exile when he failed your expectations is not what I'd call **well**. And he can't do it again. Or more likely won't. He risked disappointing your expectations once. You threw him away.

"He left."

"What choice did you give him? Sarek, you broke his heart."

"I will not listen to this emotional-"

"You **broke** his **heart**."

"He broke **mine**," Sarek stated flatly.

For a moment both he and McCoy were stunned by that admission.

"Maybe he did," McCoy finally answered. "A breach like that, it required strong emotions on **both** sides for it to be sustained. But then he helped heal your heart," McCoy said. "Sarek. Listen to me. Spock isn't ready to make it back to active duty yet. I've asked Komack for more time, but he's taking this right down to the wire before he'll say yeah or nay. So we have to plan for that."

"In many respects, I think it will be better for Spock after the Enterprise leaves. Then he can focus on the disciplines needed to recover."

"That won't cut it Sarek. You can't repeat those past mistakes."

"I look upon it more as giving Spock the opportunity to succeed this time."

"No. That's what you still don't understand. He didn't **fail** last time. I'm not even going to say you did, because I grant your motives were the best. But your methods were wrong before. And there's no way, in Spock's present condition, that they'll succeed now."

"I will see he has all he needs."

"You can't lesson him into being Vulcan. It didn't work before. And there's no way it will work now."

"It did, until Spock left."

"He left because he couldn't live the lie any longer."

"Then he did not truly understand his lessons. Vulcan disciplines and controls exist precisely because **Vulcans** require them, not because we are creatures of logic. What Spock feared was human emotion could as well have been Vulcan passions. Both require control."

"That's beside the point."

"It is precisely the point that Spock failed to understand."

"No. In the last eighteen years, I think Spock has come to a kind of acceptance of how human he is, and how Vulcan. He doesn't need, and I think doesn't want, to be molded anymore. He **knows** who he is. The question is, do you? Can you accept that? Him as he is now? Because your son may not have the strength to risk your condemnation if he rejects your expectations again. He expects that to happen, because he knows who he is and he doesn't think you've changed that much. And he can't bear it. He won't stay, Sarek."

"Very well. I will make clear to him that I will not expect more than he is capable of, particularly given his condition."

McCoy shook his head. "You still don't get it. He's not afraid of failing to master your disciplines, or of failing at some task. Why should he be? He's knows he passed them all before. That wasn't what caused the blow up in your family. He's afraid of how you'll react if he disappoints you. He's not worried about failing himself. It's **your** failure that he can't bear."

"I did not fail Spock. He left."

"He left because you had already lost him long before. Do you know how many sons of Terrans are convinced that if they fail, they risk losing their father's love? **All** of them**. Just like Spock.** Only, you proved that to him with a vengeance."

"If anything, Spock's present condition proves that I was right to forbid his leaving."

"Sarek, don't set yourselves up to replay that scenario. He can't go through it again. Maybe neither can you. Starfleet wasn't a whim for him. It was an attempt to find himself, to find an alternative from the fiction you were trying to make of his life."

"There was no fiction about Spock's accomplishments."

"He is not Vulcan." McCoy pounded his fist onto Sarek's desk. "He will never be Vulcan. It doesn't matter how many disciplines he masters, how Vulcan he acts, what profession he enters, what roles he plays here. And you can't lesson him, mold him, discipline him into being what he knows he isn't. And if you can't recognize who he really is, you'll never, **ever** know him. You'll lose him again. Maybe he'll lose himself in some drastic attempt to settle the dilemma you've created and keep fostering. You've got to help him this time. Damn it, Sarek, that's your duty. If anything ever was, that is!"

Sarek looked away a moment. "Doctor. Everything you have said proves that you fail to understand true Vulcan nature. To be Vulcan is to continually strive to attain ideals in conflict with our own biology and nature. We **none** of us accept ourselves as we are. **That** is being Vulcan."

McCoy closed his eyes. Held his breath for a long beat. "Maybe that's true. But Spock thinks, at least in part, that you believe he's not accepted because he is human."

"Perhaps he feels that. Intellectually, he **knows** better. What you are asking, Doctor, is **not** that I accept his humanity. It is that I disregard the part of him that **is** Vulcan and requires these disciplines. That is the profound and critical difference. The knowledge of the Vulcan way that you fail to comprehend. I am not denigrating Spock for being human in my assertion that he adhere to that. I am acknowledging that part of him that is Vulcan."

"But you also have to accept the human," McCoy argued, somewhat frazzled at the argument turning against him.

Sarek held out his hands. "But the two are in conflict. The disciplines for mastering his Vulcan nature are at odds with his humanity. He cannot have both."

"Sarek, he **IS** both." McCoy shook his head. "Do you know for a fact that **he** understands this profound and critical difference? Have you ever told him that you regard at least some of his struggles with emotion as purely Vulcan issues?"

"Of course. It is the core of Vulcan philosophy. He was well trained in that. He mastered it fully." Sarek raised a brow thoughtfully. "At least from a philosophical perspective."

McCoy blew out a breath. "Maybe so. But it's pretty hard for a kid to make the personal connection, when everyone around him is throwing the words half-breed and human at him."

"All his tutors-"

"That's abstract, not personal. Tell him **again**. Maybe now that he's older, removed from the pain of the past situation, he'll draw the corollary I suspect he didn't then."

"I disagree. As you have said, Doctor, his intelligence is not at question."

"Maybe he doesn't think all those philosophies fully apply to him. He needs to hear it, I'll wager, and from you. And if you really can't tell him that you love him, then just tell him the Vulcan equivalent, whatever the hell that is. Because he needs to hear something like that from you. Probably more than once, to make up for all those years of hearing - or at least assuming - the opposite." McCoy fixed him with a look. "Sarek, however painful it might be for you, however outside your ideal of how you should model Vulcan behavior for Spock, I can't stress how important this is. You manage to do it for Amanda, so I know it's not impossible for you."

Sarek shook his head. "It is wrong for me to give Spock inconsistent models, mixed signals."

"What you regard as clear signals, he regards as clear **rejection**. He's not dumb, Sarek. He knows he's half human. All this talk about being Vulcan is just rejection to him. Just like it is a red flag to you when someone tells you that Spock is not Vulcan, for Spock it's equally a red flag for you to castigate him for not being fully Vulcan. You are on different pages. But it's past time you admitted that you accept all of him. Not just to yourself, but to him too."

Sarek just looked at him.

"I can't believe you still don't want to."

"All I have ever wanted for Spock is to pass to him the full Vulcan heritage to which his paternity and his efforts have entitled him."

"You're not cheating him of that by accepting his humanity. And even if you believe that, it's still not about what **you** want, Sarek. It's not even about what Spock wants. It's about what is." McCoy eyed Sarek. "I sure didn't come down here to argue about whether he wants this or that for dinner. And I don't hold a grudge against Sivesh. But if you can't accept that much of Spock's preferences, how can you allow him any larger choices? And if you think you do accept him, then find some way to communicate that. Or you will lose him and for a lot longer than eighteen years. And worse for him, he could lose his only real home."

"Doctor, he cannot lose his home. It is his inheritance. It is more that I, and others, fear Vulcan will lose him."

"Well, you're going about it the right way if you want that," McCoy retorted. And then he hesitated. "Do you mean that king thing?"

Sarek sighed, just a little, in frustration. "Doctor, Vulcan has no royalty in the human sense. It is a hereditary-"

"Meritocracy, right. Meaning, he earns it. Which I gather he did."

"If you mean in terms of his accomplishments, at least before he left for Starfleet, yes."

McCoy sank down. "A meritocracy implies judging. I like to see Spock excused from being judged, at least for a while."

"He was set those tasks as a child, and to all public view, he achieved them."

"And you don't want anyone to see where privately, he might not quite be all that."

"Doctor, I warn you, I have scant patience for such allusions."

"Which is why you ride herd on him so hard, and choose his friends, such as he has here, and limit his interactions-"

"I did what was necessary."

"Except that for Spock it was **wrong**."

Sarek gave McCoy a look. "No. What I did for Spock ensured he came to his inheritance in full."

"His Vulcan inheritance. He has two parents."

Sarek flicked a brow at that. "If he does choose to attend the next opening of Council, and you go to observe, you will see what place he has earned here, Doctor. And the leadership that comes with it."

"Do you want him to go?"

Sarek shrugged. "I was somewhat surprised that he mentioned attending. Given the state of his shields, it will be a taxing day. I would not have required it of him - there is plenty of time for him to attend Council when he is fully recovered. But I am not opposed to his attending, if he feels well enough to manage the day. The opening day is a purely ceremonious occasion. Nothing much will be required of him. It will certainly reassure the Council and the populace should he choose to attend. T'Pau I suspect will also be pleased."

"He's mentioned it a few times, off hand. He doesn't seen too stressed by the prospect."

"Why should he?" Sarek asked, puzzled. "This is the life he was bred to, Doctor. It **will** be the first he has attended since his Mother has begun attending - since T'Pau recognized her. So his presence will no doubt be an emotional occurrence for his mother."

"And the first since he went to Starfleet."

Sarek flicked a brow as if he had not considered that. "That too. But he has always been in the line of inheritance, by T'Pau's directive. He could have attended any time he chose."

"You don't feel any emotion over the prospect of his attending, the first time since you've - ah - come to be reconciled with him again?"

"Why should I?" Sarek asked.

McCoy shook his head. "I will never understand Vulcans."

"Then do not judge what you lack comprehension regarding," Sarek said.

"Do this for me, Sarek," McCoy said. "I'm going to bring up the subject of Sivesh's study at the next meal. How we're going to adjust it. I'm not going to tell you what to say. But I want you to say **something** to indicate that you're okay with that."

"And if I am not?"

"Sarek, did it ever occur to you that Spock is a little sensitive on being regarded as an experimental subject? He's just come out of Klingon hands, where they were experimenting on breaking him. He's a hybrid, and his early years he was subjected to a little too much curiosity and attention by healers and researchers based on that. He doesn't want to be **anyone's** experiment. That's one of **his** red flags."

Sarek's eyes shadowed at that, in understanding and perhaps a touch of regret. "That I do understand."

"When I first met your son, Sarek, all I could see was a hard-nosed Vulcan," McCoy said, reminiscently. "I didn't much care for the non-emotional, computerized attitude, and I let him know it. And it turned out this Vulcan had a certain prejudice, perhaps well deserved, against the medical profession. After enough digs from me, he let fly a few disparaging remarks of his own regarding my profession. I called him a lot of names in turn. Not nice ones. Jim wasn't too close to him then either. But when Jim lost his First Officer – Gary Mitchell, that was - and Spock took over that position, they had to work more closely together And it wasn't long before Jim was singing Spock's praises, as an officer and a friend. He refereed a **lot** of arguments between us. It took me longer to appreciate Spock, to see the person behind that Vulcan façade. I wasn't very nice, or fair, to him at times. But as it turns out, I've come to like that person quite a lot. The Vulcan and the human both. I used to see only a Vulcan. Now that I've gotten to know you both, I see his mother in him."

"I have always seen his mother in the child." Sarek looked away briefly, but a trace of emotion colored his tone. "He has his mother's heart. More than any Vulcan son should have."

"It's a good heart," McCoy said in defense.

"It is a very adverse Federation for such," Sarek warned.

"Did you ever think you created some of that adversity for him?" McCoy asked. When Sarek didn't reply, McCoy had the grace to flush. "Don't worry, Sarek," he said, thinking of Spock conning the bridge of the Enterprise, phaser controls under his fingers, sometimes with Leonard McCoy sniping at his elbow. Of him coming back from Klingon hands, closer to death than anyone McCoy had brought back to life, and surviving. "Your son can handle adversity from the Federation, when it comes to that. But given there's enough of that, let's try not to contribute to that with our own. So talk to him, Sarek."

"That has been somewhat difficult, Doctor."

"It doesn't take much, Sarek."

There was a tap at the door, and one of Sarek's aides entered. "Sarek, the Federation Undersecretary is calling again. He has indicated it is **most** urgent."

Sarek met McCoy's eyes. "Tell him I will contact him shortly."

"It doesn't take **long** either," McCoy said pointedly. He rose to his feet and nodded at the departed aide. "Is it Abraxis?"

"How do you know about that?" Sarek asked.

"Hard to keep any secrets from a bunch of Starfleet Officers. Are you going to have to go there? Because Spock-"

"I have explained to them that my present duties must keep me on Vulcan for a time. But I am working on a position paper for a proposed settlement."

"Better explain that to Spock too. I suspect he thinks you are leaving," McCoy said. "He saw Amanda's compad – picked it up when she dropped it."

"I am doing what I can to avoid the necessity of leaving." Sarek sighed a little. "When he was a child, we merely put him in school. That was difficult enough at times. He kept advancing past the academic programs that primary residential schools offered, and was too young for the residential schools that offered programs at his level." He flicked a brow. "Rather, we **thought** we had difficulties then."

"What can I tell you, Sarek," McCoy said, turning to leave, throwing over his shoulder: "Little children, little problems. Big children, big problems."

"With Spock," Sarek said ironically, "They have always been big problems."

_To be continued__..._

1 see _When the Winter Comes_


	49. Chapter 49

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 49**

McCoy left Sarek's office after their argument still reeling a bit from confusion. He hadn't expected Sarek to turn the tables on him so adroitly. Before that confrontation, he had prepared his arguments, his defenses carefully. But the ambassador had pulled off a twist worthy of his reputation in claiming that all his emphasis on control was not because he was rejecting the human in Spock, but because he was concerned about him learning to control his Vulcan nature. McCoy hadn't expected that. While he didn't entirely necessarily agree, and he wasn't sure Spock saw it that way, it gave him something to consider.

He was so busy pondering that he got distracted leaving Sarek's office. He quickly became equally and hopelessly turned around trying to find his way back to the family part of the house. He blundered around empty stone corridors for what seemed like an age. Beginning to feel panicked and entombed inside the thick stone walls, he was relieved to hear an odd grinding, screeching noise, overriding another deep _thumpa-thumpa_. Following the noise with the hope it would lead to a living person, he walked through double-barred doors into a huge armory. The racket came from a Vulcan who was sitting before a treadle-driven whetstone. Based upon the items around him, he was engaged in taking down the myriad of ancient weapons from the armory walls, sharpening them on his bicycle-driven contraption, and storing the polished, sharpened weapons in crates. A section of the weaponed-covered wall was blank. Crates were partially full. Other crates were ready-stacked and waiting to be filled.

As McCoy came up behind him, undetected over the noise of the machine, the Vulcan laconically finished sharpening the current weapon. McCoy remembered from Spock's ill-fated wedding that it was called a _lirpa_. The Vulcan tested the edge with a finger, apparently deemed it satisfactory and laid it in a crate, picking up the next weapon from the stack at his side. Uneasy at startling a Vulcan armed with anything dull or sharp, McCoy watched this arcane activity pop-eyed for long moments, seeing the sparks fly in the air and smelling the burning metal, his eyes roving over the weapon-covered walls in the huge gallery, wondering if he had actually walked down stone corridors a few millennia past in Vulcan history.

But the present day was advancing. The rumbling in his stomach told him he was hungry. And all dreams of being transported back in time in this Vulcan Fortress aside, he still had a date on the _Enterprise_ with Jim and Spock. The alternative seemed to be to risk losing himself in a Vulcan dungeon today. So after a few minutes, McCoy gathered his courage, cleared his throat and called out a cautious hello.

In spite of being surrounded by enough razor-sharp weaponry for an army of Vulcans, the Vulcan wasn't overtly unfriendly. McCoy was also very thankful he wasn't the easily startled type. But he didn't seem to think he had any business with McCoy either. He threw the human a puzzled look over his shoulder but didn't pause in his pedaling.

McCoy moved to face the Vulcan, since he seemed disinclined to stop his work. And discovered this Vulcan didn't seem to have any Standard, or English either, which complicated matters. After McCoy stumbled through all the Vulcan he knew for home, house – getting the pronunciation apparently far off the mark, he settled for the family names – Spock, Amanda. The Vulcan nodded his head placidly, feet working his treadles, eyes fixed on the blade he was sharpening, but he didn't seem to get the point or care to, for that matter. He was as fixated on his task as Spock could be at times, and as impossible to shift or derail. It was only after McCoy raised his voice, and mimicked looking for the household members, putting a hand over his eyes and peering, saying the names, that the Vulcan paid him any real attention. At first he reviewed this display with expressionless skepticism, as if it were another quirky human mannerism. But then his brows rose as understanding finally dawned. Then the Vulcan resignedly got up from his machine and led him like a child back through the confusing corridors, out into the gardens. McCoy nodded in relief when they reached a familiar part and indicated that he could take it from here.

"Damn big place." He remembered his equal confusion at finding his way around when he'd first been assigned to the _Enterprise_. "I feel like such a fool," he muttered, thinking of the Vulcan's blank expression as he'd been going through his linguistic pantomime. "He'll have a tale to tell of me."

He walked through the garden court door to hear Amanda's distinctive voice coming from the breakfast room.

"You are **so** bad. I mean seriously."

"I am not," Spock denied but with the high amused tone of injured Vulcan innocence.

"You are."

McCoy heard Spock mutter the word logical, the rest of the conversation lost behind the stone walls due to Spock's lower pitched voice.

"Even your father," Amanda returned. "No other Vulcan, either."

"They are regrettably misinformed. My way is superior. The entire Federation will eventually be converted, and dazzled by my logic."

"You are **such** a brat," Amanda said, laughing. "Honestly, the worst child ever born."

"An ignoble distinction," Spock admitted, "but perhaps true."

McCoy pushed open the door to find Amanda and Spock sitting companionably together. "What's going on?"

Amanda turned in her chair, smiling at McCoy. "Good morning, Doctor." As she swiveled, she caught the edge of her briefcase by her elbow. A portable computer spilled out of it and crashed onto the floor hitting precisely on its corner. In spite of its protective case, the stone flags of the floor were as effective as any battering ram, and it promptly broke open. With the table between them, even Spock couldn't stop it in time.

"Oh, darn!" Amanda picked up her device, examining it ruefully.

"If I may?" Spock said, reaching across the table, and taking it from her hands. After a moment's perusal, he said. "Some broken fiber connections require reattachment. But perhaps no serious damage done."

"It's probably more sensible to get a new one than to take it in to be repaired," Amanda said ruefully. "Except I do have some things on it I haven't transferred."

Spock raised a brow over the scrambled electronics. "Take it?"

"Well I wouldn't bother your father with something like this."

Spock flicked a brow and rose from the table.

"**You** don't have to -"

"You forget you have a computer expert here," McCoy said. "He's used to taking the _Enterprise_ computers, not to mention the whole ship, apart piece by piece and putting it back together. Usually functionally," he teased.

"Dr. McCoy exaggerates as usual. But it is true that on a ship in deep space, Mother, we are used to fixing what we have." He went out of the room.

"What was all that about, when I came in?" McCoy muttered. "Brat, etc." McCoy glanced at the door, hoping Spock was out of hearing range.

"He has his moments," Amanda said pouring over her wounded device.

"Look, I'm not one to talk, having my share of tossing names at your son," McCoy muttered _sotto voce_, conscious Spock could be walking in any minute, but don't you think, teasing aside - " he heard a footfall on the stairs and broke off.

Spock came back in with a microtool kit. He took the computer back from Amanda and slit it open with a prying tool. Separating out the torn fibers methodically, he began to reattach them with a micro laser, painstakingly finicky work.

"I'd entirely forgotten how useful it is to have a boy good with tools around the house," Amanda mused, watching with her chin propped on her elbows. "I've missed that since you've been gone."

"This is an old device," Spock said, eyes narrowed in concentration, not bothering with a magnifying tool as he threaded a nearly transparent fiber with practiced ease. "You probably **should** consider replacing it."

"It works, though. Did work, anyway."

"Slowly, I suspect," Spock said, quirking a brow at her.

"Fast enough for me," Amanda retorted. "All I do is write papers and do communications with it."

"Like the paper you did for the Estrucian conference." Spock said dryly. "That recently won a pan-Federation award."

"No Zi, though." Amanda noted. "So it was, in your words, a Nobel loser. Pity that you have such an unaccomplished mother."

Spock favored her with an ironic half smile at that.

"Though I don't think it was the computer that was at fault," she added.

"Perhaps more than **two** such acclaims is an embarrassment of riches," he ventured.

"I don't know about that. But between teaching, T'Pau and dealing with your father's diplomatic distractions, it's been hard for me to get too deep into research." She frowned. "Oh, dear. That sounds like I'm making poor excuses."

"You have been **far** too long on Vulcan, Mother," Spock said.

"I don't think your father would agree. Anyway, what is, is."

"Again," he noted, "a very Vulcan attitude."

She shrugged. "I do have some very good classes this semester. But I do wish you had at least talked to Silontaen when your father suggested it. I saw him in the faculty lounge today, and he had been honestly hoping you might join him in his seminar. And you know, it might be fun."

Spock gave her a look over the faint out gassing from his lasering. "Mother, I can't do that."

"You won't know till you try," Amanda argued. "You could find it interesting. Maybe not fully as **exciting** as chasing monsters in a paper boat-"

"Mother," Spock said, in a long suffering tone at this hyperbolic description of his career.

"You could still take him up on it. The term's barely started. And it will give you something to work at while you're convalescing."

"Won't it be inconvenient," Spock asked, a trace of hesitation in his tone "for you to leave Vulcan so soon into the term?"

"Me?" She frowned at him in puzzlement. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I thought," Spock frowned and then closed his mouth firmly over whatever he'd planned to say, as if he had overstepped his bounds, and concentrated on his repair work.

"Your father's working on a paper," Amanda said, with quick understanding. She typically refrained from mentioning the classified subject. "He's not going anywhere either."

Spock eyed her with the patient skepticism of someone who had watched his parents yield to every diplomatic siren call throughout his formative years. He didn't comment, instead snapping the case back together. He touched the power button and watched the device boot. "It appears functional to me," he said, "but check it."

"You are brilliant," she said, looking from it to him.

"Hardly. It was a minor repair," Spock said, replacing the tools in the microkit. "Any child could have done it."

"Lucky that I had my child here," she teased.

"Luck, I suspect, has little to do with anything," Spock replied.

"Now you do sound just like your father."

At that, Sarek entered the room. "Amanda, I expect I will be late this evening."

"I was surprised to see your flyer still in the hangar when I came home," Amanda said. "You were supposed to be at Council Keep hours ago. It's amazing the place hasn't blown up without you there to defuse that steaming pressure cooker of Vulcan politics with your touted logic." She winked at McCoy, who couldn't help but smile at this further example of familial teasing - that in fact explained a little why Spock engaged so easily in banter on the _Enterprise_.

"How fortunate they have managed to avoid that fate for so long without me," Sarek said dryly, reaching out to touch his fingers to Amanda's in farewell.

"The only thing that keeps them from dueling lirpas down there," she said to Spock, "is your father's shining Surak-descended example."

"Your mother," Sarek said to his son without missing a beat. "Is so delusional she requires a keeper."

"Unfair," Amanda said. "Give the poor child a complex, why don't you?"

"If he hasn't one after many years of exposure to your questionable illogic, it is solely due to my influence," Sarek replied.

"I don't like it," Amanda said, making a face, "And you lose a point for descending to insults. But given you are already late, I'll let it pass. Why **are** you still here?"

"I was unavoidably delayed," Sarek said, eyes sliding with practiced indifference over McCoy. "And now expect to be equally late returning home."

"Stay a few minutes then, and at least eat lunch with us. Or you'll miss lunch and dinner both."

Sarek hesitated, tempted but reluctant, his eyes falling on Spock, who lowered his head, conscious of the past evening's events. "A few moments more then," Sarek yielded to the inevitable, with a glance at McCoy.

"I'll tell T'Rueth to hurry lunch." Amanda said.

"Good luck with that," Spock muttered as if to himself.

"Hungry?" McCoy asked.

"I was too late for breakfast," Spock said. "And am waiting for lunch."

"Perhaps a reason not to miss dinner," Sarek said in a cool retort.

Spock drew a breath at that, shoulders straightening as if preparing himself to apologize to Sarek, but the elder Vulcan forestalled him.

"You were repairing something?" Sarek asked, noting the toolkit.

"Mother dropped her computer."

"Again, I gather," Sarek said.

Spock didn't answer, and Amanda delayed any further conversation by coming back through the door, followed by T'Jar, both bearing lunch. T'Jar put a bowl of what McCoy recognized as Vulcan plomik soup before Spock. Spock narrowed his eyes, wrinkling his nose infinitesimally at it, and resolutely pushed it way. "No, thank you," he said, with human politeness, but Vulcan stubbornness.

"Perhaps it might be best," Amanda said, with a worried glance to anticipate Sarek, not knowing of McCoy's conversation with him, and apparently determined to head him off by tackling the subject herself, "if you don't intend to eat the diet Sivesh recommended, that we tell T'Rueth. So that she doesn't keep preparing meals you won't eat."

"Yes," Spock said, with typical understatement.

"What's wrong with it?" Sarek asked, a touch of exasperation in his tone, looking at the plomik soup as if he were hungrily inclined to eat it himself. "I don't understand your issue with Sivesh's assigned diet."

"I am sure there is nothing wrong with it," Spock said.

"T'Rueth is an **excellent** cook," Amanda said, frowning and distressed.

"No doubt. But as for the diet, I don't really care for T'Rueth's preparations."

This seemed to pole-ax Amanda who looked from her son to her husband in amazement. "But she's preparing classic Vulcan-"

"I don't," Spock said, sounding both Vulcan precise and yet very human both at the same moment, "care for classic Vulcan preparations."

This seemed to silence both his parents. Perhaps because McCoy had adjured Sarek, and he was still finding his way to address this, Amanda spoke first. "I'd think you'd appreciate them for a change, given I usually produce something very far from the mark."

Spock gave a little sigh of taxed patience. "Where would I have learned to appreciate classic Vulcan cuisine?" he curled a lip at the plomik soup by his elbow. "The first I was exposed to it was at boarding school. That was hardly the environment to acquire any appreciation."

"But…you've never said anything about that," Amanda said. "Ever."

"When I came home from school?" Spock asked, in patent disbelief. "The issue was resolved with my return."

"What about when you came home from Starfleet, when we had T'Rueth?"

"I was never here for more than a few days," Spock said. "What would have been the point?"

Amanda studied her son, the truth dawning over her in slow surmise, touched and embarrassed and oddly flattered. "You're saying that you actually prefer **my** cooking? **Mine**? But I can hardly cook at all."

"You exaggerate that," Sarek said.

"It's **home** cooking that everyone wants, when they go home," McCoy noted. "We all like what is familiar to us. Well. That clears that little puzzle up to be no real mystery at all."

"To be quite clear," Spock said, looking his father right in the eye. "I don't generally care for purely Vulcan food. It doesn't taste normal. To me."

Sarek looked at his son without expression long enough it was clear this side effect of raising a ostensibly Vulcan son by a human wife had never occurred to him. Or perhaps he thought a truly Vulcan individual would disregard such minor differences.

"I said you'd get to know him, one way or another," McCoy muttered in an aside to Sarek.

"Well, then I will eat it," Sarek said, snagging Spock's rejected meal. "Because if I don't depart soon, and acquire something to eat even sooner, I will neither eat nor arrive home until tomorrow."

Spock blinked at Sarek's calm acceptance of what he had apparently considered was going to be a bombshell.

"I still can't believe you like my cooking," Amanda mused as they settled down to lunch.

McCoy choked in laughter at this typically human response. Spock just flicked a brow, sanguine now that Sarek had not castigated him for what had, to Spock, apparently been a long kept secret.

"It isn't **that** aberrant," Sarek said to her.

"My cooking? Or Spock's preferences?" she asked wickedly.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Sarek settled for diplomacy. "Neither."

She bowed her head exaggeratedly from her side of the table. "Thank you so much. Or in Vulcan-speak, I am honored."

"I have begun to believe Mother is more Vulcan than I," Spock said.

McCoy stopped chuckling at Amanda just in time to keep himself from choking at this near heresy from Spock before Sarek.

"Well, I suppose given I've lived here **longer** than you, some of it has rubbed off," Amanda teased, undaunted by this truth, while McCoy and Sarek eyed each other like two combatants ordered to separate sides of a ring, both longing to get into it, but forbidden by the bell. "A sort of Vulcan rather than human contamination."

Even Spock rolled his eyes at this. "Mother," he said.

"It is ironic, isn't it? Though inevitable," Amanda chuckled.

"That is a situation that can be remedied," Sarek said, confining himself to that diplomatically ambiguous remark, no doubt due to lack of time.

Amanda regarded her son over her own meal. "You don't have to **eat** Vulcan, Spock. But if you are going out and about, you **should** acquire some decent clothes. What you are wearing is fine around here. And you can't help looking starved, at least for a while. But your father is a Federation ambassador, and you are who you are. You went into Shikahr last night dressed no better than a ragamuffin. I heard a few comments about it, this morning. Given your position, it looked a little odd."

"No Vulcan should make such personal remarks," Sarek decreed.

"They weren't all Vulcans," Amanda noted. "And even Vulcans can be curious. Spock's arrival home hasn't been widely publicized. People will be curious. And talk."

Spock looked bemusedly down at his attire as if puzzling over her comment. Still too thin to fit well into his former clothes, he continued to dress in rather ancient relics from his pre-Starfleet residence on Vulcan. Today he'd added a rather shapeless sweater that hung on him. He self-consciously gathered it a little tighter.

"And why are you wearing that?" Amanda nodded at the sweater. "You can't possibly be cold?"

"There was a breeze through my room this morning," Spock said with injured dignity.

"There was a cold breeze last night," Amanda agreed dubiously, "but this morning-" she looked with a shudder at the waves of heat shimmering off the Vulcan gardens. "It was like an oven in Shikahr."

"It was cold," Spock asserted, as if that closed the subject.

"Once you get a little meat on your bones," McCoy said, "you won't chill so easily."

"As you recover, you will regain the ability to adjust your metabolism," Sarek countered, giving McCoy a look.

"I do apologize for my behavior last evening," Spock said, determined to get it out before Sarek left, and meeting his father's eyes with dogged determination.

Sarek studied him for a moment, for this was a different Spock. In the wrong, Spock usually hung his head in penitence or simple avoidance. Sarek had long ago discounted that it was in deference. Now while his words were penitent, his gaze offered no quarter.

"I did not intend to dictate your choices," Sarek said in response. "But you should discuss your condition with Sivesh." Before Spock could respond, he rose. "And now, I must go."

Amanda followed her husband out, returning in a moment with shining eyes. "Well. I'm rather proud of both of you for that last little exchange," she smiled at her son. "You ragamuffin, you. But please lose that ancient sweater if you are going out. I can't knit much better than I cook, and that thing is sad."

"Unfortunately, I must retain the sweater," Spock said. "On the _Enterprise_ it will be very cold."

Amanda made a face at that. "I'd forgotten about that."

"Have you heard from Jim yet?" McCoy asked Spock.

"He will come," Spock said, with the same surety as of the sun rising. And even as Sarek's flyer was leaving the force screen, Spock's nearly identical one was entering, the two passing each other in an odd _pas de deux_, like a changing of the guard.

"Ready to go home?" Kirk asked with a big grin as he came through the door.

Amanda blinked at that, astounded at such blatant audacity, even from Kirk.

McCoy said, "Jim…."

"Figuratively, of course," Kirk said with innocent cheerfulness.

"Is the ship ready then?" Amanda asked with careful politeness.

"Today the saucer and engineering nacelles with connect with the hull," Kirk said enthusiastically. "It's a real sight to see."

"If you're crazy in love with Starships," McCoy said dryly. "Otherwise it is a whole lot of boring."

"Bones!" Kirk said, his face falling in amazement.

"Jim, as your physician I hate to wound you. But watching the pieces of the _Enterprise_ slowly chug together and dock is only slightly more interesting than watching paint dry."

"Spock, back me up here," Kirk urged. "Tell them what a gorgeous sight it is."

"Have I seen it before?" Spock asked, raising both brows.

"Many times," Kirk said.

"I do regret disappointing you, Captain. But I think if it were that stunning a sight," Spock said with judicious consideration, "I would remember it."

McCoy guffawed as Kirk looked first miffed, and then Kirk grinned too.

"Fine. You don't have to agree with me. Just keep calling me Captain," Kirk told Spock, straddling a chair. "On the _Enterprise_."

"You never stop, do you Jim?" McCoy asked.

"Stopping is not how I got to be a Starship Captain, Bones. It's not how Spock got where he was, either." Kirk tossed a package on the table. "And I brought you a uniform."

Spock looked at the package and back up to Kirk, wordlessly.

McCoy glanced from Spock lack of reaction to Kirk and then to Amanda's carefully expressionless face. "Jim-"

"Officially cleared for duty or not, you can still wear it," Kirk said, tearing open the package.

"I didn't **leave** any uniforms," Spock said, staring at the blue shirt with its double-barred gold braid that spilled out of the wrapping.

"I had Scotty pull your parameters and we tweaked them a little, for the weight loss," Kirk said, and then paused from shaking out the blue shirt to look at Spock. "How'd you know **that**?"

"You remember, Spock?" McCoy asked.

Spock pulled back from table putting fingers to his temples. "I didn't leave any uniforms," he repeated. "I **chose** not to. Because I estimated I would not be able to return from that mission."

There was a long moment when Kirk's face fell, McCoy went from interest to concern and Amanda's eyes filled with tears.

"You knew that? Why ever did you go, then?" she asked.

"It was my duty. I had no choice," Spock said simply.

"No choice?" She looked at Kirk accusingly. "You ordered him on a suicide mission?"

"It wasn't meant to be that," Kirk said. "He never told me that."

"Well, he has a choice now," Amanda said fiercely, putting a hand on her son's arm. "You don't have to return there."

But Spock pulled back, away from Amanda's arm, away from the table on which the uniform lay before him. Not in rejection of either tie, but as if he were thrust back by something internal. "6022.3," he said. "That was the Stardate where I last wore uniform."

"That's right, Spock," McCoy said. "You remember."

"No," Spock said. "I don't **remember**. I **feel** it."

"I don't understand," McCoy said.

"Do you mean you don't remember in a Vulcan way?" Amanda asked, concern overlying her flash of anger. She still reached out tentatively again, laying her hand on her son's as if to claim possession.

Spock looked at her hand as if were something foreign to him. "Yes. I don't remember in a Vulcan way." He looked at McCoy, a line between his brows, stressed and confused.

"The more you remember," Kirk said. "The easier it will get."

Amanda drew a sharp breath. Even Spock looked at Kirk, his brows raised. "**That** is a human attitude."

"Maybe just a Kirk one," McCoy groused a bit, frowning at his Captain. "Jim, **really**."

"For Spock's that's true," Kirk said stubbornly. "Besides being necessary."

Amanda's hand tightened on her son, and she frowned at Kirk. "When he is ready."

"Spock?" Kirk asked.

Spock's chest rose and deflated in a sigh. "I have no objection to visiting the _Enterprise_, Captain. Perhaps it is time for that."

"Finish breakfast. Or lunch, or whatever we're calling this," McCoy said.

Spock's brows were knit, as if trying to force a memory. "Is it a pretty sight, Jim?" he asked.

"The only thing better is when she's together, and ready to go," Kirk said. "You'll see that too. And you'll be ready as well."

Spock frowned as if trying to imagine that.

Amanda looked as if she were trying out her own version of Vulcan disciplines to keep from speaking her mind. Kirk was clearly so happy at the prospect of getting Spock on board he was oblivious to her distress, perhaps much as everyone had overlooked and made excuses for his own distress when he watched Spock reacclimate to his home again.

When Spock had come back downstairs, this time in science blue, the thick undershirt tugged protectively underneath and showing at the collar, McCoy nodded in reproof from Kirk to Amanda and said, "Jim."

Kirk turned feasting eyes from his First Officer, in looks if not in official record. Frowning at his hostess, he belatedly if reluctantly remembered his manners. "You're welcome to join us, of course," he offered politely, "If you want to see the ship."

She made a face at that. "Me?" She looked at Spock, pulling his sleeves with their commander's stripes down to his wrists - the fit wasn't perfect - to Kirk. "I don't know." She looked back to her son. "Would you like me to go?"

"I think, Mother," Spock said with an ironical twist to his voice, "that you'd rather watch paint dry."

"Very politic of you."

"You don't like ships. And I think you don't really care for Starfleet."

"And here I was trying so hard to be diplomatic," Amanda said with a warning waggle of her brows to Kirk, "about so many things. How ironic that it is that which comes out."

"Leave diplomacy to Father," Spock said.

"I wish," she said fervently, still glaring a little at Kirk. "Of course on this subject, your father can hardly be said to do that well either."

In a move that probably shocked Amanda more than Kirk or McCoy, Spock leaned down and brushed a kiss on the top of her head. "We will not be overly long."

That was sweet of you, Spock," McCoy said, snagging Spock to walk a pace behind Jim as they went out to where Jim had landed Spock's fancy new flyer on the hard packed sands outside the gate.

"She really doesn't like Starfleet any more than my father does," Spock said. "She just hides it better."

"She supported you regardless. I can't say I **quite** admire your father's diplomacy in that regard," McCoy said dubiously. "But I suppose in his own way, he was looking out for you too."

"He's never tried to be diplomatic with me on that subject," Spock said and moved ahead to his usual half pace behind Jim.

Every dockyard is a little different. Vulcan Space Central didn't allow for uncertified crafts to do their own docking maneuvers unassisted. Rather than the _Enterprise_'s hull and nacelles joining together solely under their own thruster powers, Vulcan tugs also surrounded the ship, like a swarm of tiny insects, and used coordinated tractor beams to help move the disjointed vessel into docking range of itself, in an antagonistic ballet of pull, push and belay.

"Three hundred years ago, we'd be using ropes," Kirk said, eyes shining as he watched his ship reassemble itself from a skeleton of pieces into its familiar and beautiful form. "You missed the part this morning, where they fired up the engine nacelles before certifying them as ready for docking. It was a beautiful sight."

"If you weren't a ship captain," McCoy said from behind the pilot and co-pilot's console, "I'd certify you as delusional, Jim."

"No. She is beautiful," Kirk said. "Right, Spock?"

"I took a shuttle away from the _Enterprise_," Spock said, his tone hushed. "Not **this** shuttle."

Kirk turned to his first officer. "That's right."

"Not this shuttle," Spock repeated, as if oblivious to the Vulcan flyer they were in. "I wasn't wearing uniform. I watched the _Enterprise_ in the rear scanner view. I knew I would never see her again."

"But you **are** seeing her, Spock."

Spock turned blank eyes on Kirk. "No. This cannot be real."

"Bones?"

"And no water handy," McCoy said. He snapped his fingers. "Spock. Come back to us. Spock."

"It isn't real," Spock said, his voice so uninflected it sounded like a computer rendering. "And thus you must be enemies."

"We sure can't slap him," Kirk muttered. "There're no weapons on board like in an _Enterprise_ shuttle. Med kit?"

"Hate to use drugs," McCoy said. "Spock!" Upon inspiration, when Spock failed to respond to his name, he used the same title T'Jar had used the night before, in the kitchen.

Spock blinked and shook his head. He looked puzzled from McCoy to Kirk. "Did I lose time?"

"What's your timesense tell you?" McCoy asked.

Spock nodded, lower lip pushing up in a rare expression for him. His eyes met Kirk's, chastened and hesitant. "I'm sorry, Jim."

"It doesn't matter. It's not your fault," Kirk said. "Come on," he glanced back to the _Enterprise_. While they had been concerned with Spock, the _Enterprise_ had finished rejoining. The nacelles began to glow with minimal power. Then, one by one, the cruising lights winked on. Even McCoy drew a breath as the ship lit up and came to life.

"That's the ship that rescued you, Spock," Kirk said with satisfaction, when the moment had passed.

"The finest starship in the fleet," Spock echoed, as if in memory.

"Let's get on board, and do a quick walk through. Scotty's waiting for us."

When the three _Enterprise_ officers alighted on the shuttlebay deck, there was no welcoming committee, not even Scott, so it was hard to say anyone was waiting for them.

"Scotty never had much patience for brass, even on a good day when his bairns are purring like kittens," Kirk said. "With them just being resuscitated back to life, he's probably pouring over them."

"More avidly than you did over Spock after you'd first delivered him to Vulcan," McCoy said.

"Bones," Kirk groused.

"Humans have to love," McCoy said in arcane commentary as they made their way to Engineering. "When your profession takes you away from the normal family ties, you get obsessed over colleagues or machinery. Neither one may be an ideal substitute."

A few Vulcan engineers stood behind Scotty, deadpan in spite of Scotty's excitableness, as if long association with him over the last couple of weeks had inured them to human emotionalism. They inclined their heads to Spock, a Vulcan's sketchy non-verbal acknowledgement. He nodded fractionally back, still station-keeping at Kirk's shoulder.

"You okay, Spock?" McCoy muttered, thinking of his episode in the shuttle.

"It's just Engineering," Spock said.

"You've probably helped tear these engines apart and put them together a hundred times in the last fifteen years or so," McCoy muttered, as Scott and the Vulcan tech crew went through what had been done.

Spock looked over the engine room, "You need not fear, Doctor. They didn't much care about engineering. It will be the bridge, perhaps, that causes another _episode_, as you call them."

"We'll be shutting down environmental to minimum in the saucer," Scott warned them. "Including deck five, now that all the officers will be leaving. I'll be bunking in Engineering with the test crew. So if you stay past the crew dismissal, ye'll have to let me know."

"We will, Scotty," Kirk said. "Bridge?" he asked Spock.

The Vulcan nodded.

Uhura was in the con, long legs crossed, fingers teasing a stylus through her hair. She stood up when Kirk entered. "Captain? We're shutting down in just a few minutes and turning the ship over to the tech crew."

Kirk waved her back down. "This is just a visit."

"It's good to see you, Mr. Spock," Uhura said. She eyed his blue science uniform. "May I say that uniform looks very well on you?"

"Doesn't it?" Kirk said with a grin.

"Welcome back," Uhura added.

Not responding, Spock took a step away from the turbolift doors down to the command well. His eyes went from Uhura to the viewscreen. That showed nothing but dockyard scenes: a few Vulcan craft, a an orbiting tender shop wearing a Vulcan scripted sign emblazoned on its side, Eridani itself a reddish orb in the near distance. Discounting that, his gaze moved to the navigation and helm consoles, back to the command chair and then up over Uhura's shoulder to the science console. He stared at his old workstation for a long, long moment.

"Spock?" Kirk asked. He laid a hand on his First Officer's shoulder. "Spock."

And Spock's knees went out from under him and he collapsed at Uhura's feet.

"Bones?" Kirk snapped.

McCoy already had a scanner out. "His readings are a bit off," McCoy said. "I think he just fainted."

"Vulcans don't faint," Kirk said.

McCoy tipped a brow at Kirk. "Maybe they do when they're pushed a little too much." He turned back to Spock. "Hey, Spock. Come back to us?"

"Can you give him something?" Kirk asked.

"I hate to drug him, if he doesn't need it. Help me shift him to sit a little more comfortably." McCoy and Kirk settled Spock's shoulders against the command chair, "Come on, Spock."

"How about this," Uhura asked, moving to the communications console, and opening a cubby. She handed a vial to McCoy. "Someone sent this to me, and I opened the package on duty when Spock was here." She shrugged a shoulder at Kirk. "You know. Late watch. Mail from home."

Kirk nodded.

"I asked him what he thought of it. His brows rose like it blew his skull right off his head, and he told me if Vulcans ever developed smelling salts, this perfume would do the trick. I never did move it down to my quarters. I'm not fond of the scent myself all that much."

"We'll give it a try," McCoy said, and waved the open vial under Spock's nose. The Vulcan choked and stirred.

"Works like a charm." McCoy studied the vial. "Mind if I keep this a while to have it analyzed?"

"Keep it for good. I'm never planning to wear it."

"No sleeping on duty, Commander," Kirk said with a worried half smile as Spock blinked up at them.

"What happened?" Spock asked.

"You went down in a fine Victorian faint," McCoy said.

"Did someone hit me with a phaser blast?" Spock asked.

"No," McCoy said, with a trace of a grin.

"Did you infuse one of your vile potions into my body?"

"No, again. Though we did give you a whiff of Uhura's smelling salts perfume. How do you feel?"

"I have felt better," Spock said.

"Well enough to sit up?" McCoy asked.

Spock nodded reluctantly.

"Here," Uhura turned the command chair toward Spock as McCoy and Kirk got an elbow under his arms.

"Maybe not the con," Kirk said, even as McCoy was helping Spock into it. "If he reacted that way just to looking at the science console."

"What did set you off, Spock?" McCoy asked.

Settling into the command chair, Spock stared out the viewscreen, his hands automatically moving to the chair arms, fingers brushing the controls there as if getting his bearings, his posture straightening in muscle memory from thousands of watches. He glanced over his shoulder at the science console and his eyes narrowed as if in pain.

"Spock?"

"Can't tell," Spock murmured.

"Maybe enough for today," McCoy counseled. "This isn't exactly the proper way to go about dealing with his last mission."

Kirk winced at McCoy's phrasing. "Don't call it **that**." He turned to Spock. "It won't be his last. Don't look there," he said to Spock of the science console, "if it reminds you of things you are afraid to tell. Though the Klingons are long gone, and it's just us here. Look out there," Kirk turned the con to the viewscreen. "At the stars. That's a sight worth seeing. New things to see. We have a mission to finish."

Spock looked at the viewscreen for a moment. Then said in his driest, most ironic voice. "This is the Eridani system. This quadrant is my own backyard, so to speak."

McCoy chuckled at that. "Touché."

"I'm trying for a little inspirational poetry, Commander." Kirk said, clouting him on the shoulder in amused frustration.

Spock turned swifter than any eye could follow, grasping Kirk's wrist in his hand before he'd even half finished the gesture.

"Ouch!" Kirk said, wincing but wisely not retaliating. "Whoa, whoa, Spock. Let go."

Spock dropped it quickly, flushing. "Forgive me, Captain. I was startled."

"I was about to tell McCoy to poke you with a hypospray," Kirk said, shaking his wrist ruefully.

"He break it?" McCoy asked.

"I don't think he went that far." Kirk clenched his fingers into a fist and then carefully extended them. "But I suspect I'm going to have a hell of a bruise."

"Is there environmental in Sickbay?" McCoy asked Uhura. "Those machines are better than my portable kit."

"Really, Doctor," Uhura chastised him. "And as long as you've served on a Starship? Sickbay is always at ready, as required per regs. Though Scotty always fumes at the power consumption and complains we could warm it up from standby in a trice."

"Sometimes you don't have a trice," McCoy said laconically. "Let's get some sonics on that, Jim. And I'll give my domain a look-over."

The turbo shunted them down and sideways, directly there, warning them about levels without environmental. It opened on a corridor that was darkened past the faint glow lights illuminating the sickbay doors.

Once inside, Kirk hopped up on the table, cradling his wrist.

"Not too bad," McCoy said, studying the readouts. "An anti-inflammatory and a few minutes of sonics, and you'll be almost as good as new."

"Bones," Kirk said, nodding at Spock who'd leaned up against the bulkhead just inside the door, eyeing the room warily.

"You still with us, Spock?" McCoy asked.

"Perhaps I should wait outside."

McCoy glanced enquiringly at Kirk. "No security on this ship, Jim," McCoy reminded him. "You trust him not to fly off to the bridge and try to land us? You never know with Spock."

"Come sit by us," Kirk coaxed instead. "There's not much environmental in the corridor anyway. It's cold out there. And dark. Might remind you of unpleasant associations."

"I'm not sure this is an ideal environment for him, either," McCoy said. "Given his anathema to the medical profession. But you're right, outside is downright forbidding. Come on over, Spock. I'm not going to bite you. Jim neither."

Spock crossed reluctantly.

"You know all this equipment. It's not a torture device," McCoy said, running a scanner over Kirk's hand. "Your father had his heart operation just a few beds over. You remember that, Spock?"

"I had a fever of 112," Spock said.

Kirk quirked a brow. "Bones?"

"When we recovered him," McCoy quietly reminded Kirk who had a near Vulcan memory for people and situations, but probably not one for medical details. "Yes," he said to Spock. "But you're back to normal now."

"No," Spock said, slowly shaking his head. His shoulders were tight, as if he were holding himself in control, human style. "I am not."

"You will be."

"I can't do it," Spock said, shivering slightly, thermal shirt or not, breaking through his rigid control.

"You just need more time," Kirk urged.

"I can't do it," Spock repeated.

"You **can**."

Spock shook his head, shaking a little. "I'm sorry, Jim."

The intercom whistled its familiar note. After nearly fifteen years aboard ship, the automatic reflex to answer it was as much a muscle memory as Spock's posture in the command chair on the bridge. Spock's eyes widened and he turned automatically before catching himself and looking a question at McCoy.

"Get that, would'ja Spock?" McCoy asked his expression deviously laconical, as if too busy with Kirk's sonics to bother.

Spock stared at McCoy as if aware he were being set some sort of arcane test. But he crossed to the terminal, a picture from his own past, uniformed in science blue, with only his hair a little too long for the role he was playing, and hit the switch. "Spock, here." His voice was the same as ever, Vulcan steady and inflectionless.

Kirk drew a sudden sharp breath at Spock's matter-of-fact tone, as if it were just another day on the _Enterprise_. Even Spock seemed affected.

"Aye, Mr. Spock," Scott said, equally laconic. "Your countrymen have everything buttoned up, and we're ready for trials. Time for all ye passengers to depart."

"I don't consider **myself** a passenger, Scott," Kirk said with deceptive mildness that hid his Irish temper, sliding off the treatment table like a cat on the prowl.

"Gie us a few days, and she'll be your ship again," Scott said. "But to get her back, ye'll hafta let us engineers have her first."

Kirk grimaced. "Well, when you put it that way."

"If ye wish to visit quarters before departure, perhaps to pick up anything personal, Deck Five will have environmental for ten minutes. And no more."

"You're not **that** worried about these trials, Scotty," Kirk asked.

"No, sir," Scott said. "But it's prudent, and ye may wish to pick up your orders. No doubt should."

"You have a point," Kirk said. His orders were official.

"Maybe you want to pick up your lyre, Spock?" McCoy suggested. "And how about that blanket from your bed?"

"I don't think you need to encourage him to **pack**, Bones," Kirk snapped.

"They're valuable," McCoy said. "And, good as he is with a guitar - right, Jim? - he may want the lyre to play."

"We'll detour to Deck Five on the way out," Kirk said, scowling a bit.

McCoy wasn't sure how Spock would react to the sight of Jim's quarters - scene of so many conferences, altercations - McCoy remembered one shameful fight with himself and Spock during the Tholian incident when they'd gone to listen to Kirk's last orders to them. Or how he'd react to the sight of his own. He was silent while Jim went to his safe and removed his official orders, but his eyes were haunted as if a thousand barely recalled scenes were swimming in his mind, striving to surface, and yet drowning in mindsifter chaos.

In his own quarters, he drew up perceptibly when he inhaled the incense, and felt the dry warmth of the air in his rooms.

"Bit like home," McCoy said, remarking on the red light and the warm air. "Bring back any memories, Spock?"

"I remember as a human does," Spock said, laying a hand almost in benediction on the screen of his desk's computer console. "But unfortunately not as a Vulcan."

"But your memory is coming back," Kirk countered.

"In a human way."

"Human or Vulcan, as long as it is," Kirk said. "I never heard that a Vulcan memory was **required** for Fleet service."

"At one point," Spock said, eyeing Kirk, "you favored my Vulcan side more."

Kirk blushed at the memory of that inadvertent thought, the night of the party. "I was frustrated. You could say I've even been a little jealous of all these competing ties."

"A **little**," McCoy said in sardonic aside. "That's an understatement if I ever heard one."

"It's not easy for me to think of giving you up. Much less to losing you to that damn mission. If you had all your Vulcan faculties," Kirk went on doggedly, "you'd have pulled off one of those healing trances and been well by now. So yes, maybe I value the Vulcan more. I can't help it. I've seen you pull off miracles from some of those Vulcan abilities."

"I understand, Captain," Spock said. But he didn't meet Kirk's eyes.

"Spock -" Kirk tried again. "Look, I started off as a fairly typical Starfleet captain, mostly holding Earth/Human tenets-"

"I don't know that I agree with that," McCoy drawled.

"Shut up, Bones," Kirk said impatiently before turning back to Spock. "Serving with you, Commander, has been an education. A privilege."

"Let's not go too far," McCoy said, fighting back a smile.

"That you're Vulcan was part of that. That's all I meant," Kirk finished.

Spock regarded Kirk at the end of this speech with a Vulcan deficit of expression. "I knew I had to wait for you, you know," he commented. "When I was in Klingon hands. I had deliberately forced myself to forget **why** I must wait. But I knew I couldn't allow myself to end my life. Because I had to wait for you. That much I do remember. Waiting. For you."

Kirk set his own jaw against betraying too much emotion, and blinked back sudden moisture. "I'm glad you waited. And you've got a long life still ahead of you. You've got your career ahead of you too. It isn't over, Spock." His voice hardened. "But you may still have to fight for it. As hard as you fought before to stay alive and sane through all that torture. I wish you didn't have to-"

"He **doesn't** have to, Jim," McCoy counseled, a concerned frown on his face, giving Spock a worried glance. "Spock that's your choice."

"He let himself forget why," Kirk countered. "Because the memories were probably all tied up together with Starfleet secrets. "But I'm telling him, that the **why** was as important to him then as anything else. Come **back**, Spock. This is your chosen life."

Spock regarded him fixedly for a moment.

And then the intercom whistled, with an aggrieved Scott on the end. "Can ye no be gettin on, Captain? What are ye all doin? Time's pressin."

"Yes," Kirk agreed with a significant glance to Spock. "It is."

_To be continued..._


	50. Chapter 50

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 50**

For a large planet, Vulcan was unusual in that its native population, indeed all its far flung colonies, shared a very defined and coherent philosophy. Within that populace, complex rings of societal associations and subsets circled, like the belts of stardust around some planets. The largest rings or subsets were obviously those of clan affiliations. Above those stood professional societies and educational hierarchies. These were further superseded by the premier educational institutions, from elite primary and secondary academies to the lofty VSA. And the highest, most select ring floating above all of Vulcan society was composed of clan leaders, council leaders and representatives, topped by Sarek, as head of Council, with T'Pau as Matriarch over all.

With Spock as their heir.

But for Sarek, Spock had not been even a blip on Vulcan's societal radar for decades. Even now that he himself was recognizing his son, he didn't believe Spock's health and personal issues, his future and immediate decisions were of any encompassing interest to those outside of his immediate personal family

Facing a full work day of his own, Sarek had ceased considering Spock once he left his Fortress home and put his own familial concerns behind him. That comparatively blissful state ended the moment he stepped from his aircar at Council Keep. He was asked about Spock before the hatch of his vehicle had even closed. Then on the entrance steps to the Council building, he was asked again. Then in the Great Hall within. And several times on the way to his office. And in the great hall, those who didn't presume to directly approach him seemed to be enquiring of others. The murmur around the building, from voice to voice and ear to ear, echoed with questions in which his son's name figured prominently.

"Was it true that Spock had performed in a music venue the previous evening? Was he now resigning from Starfleet? Had he returned to Vulcan to stay? Would he be taking a position at the Vulcan Science Academy? Was it true he had been captured and nearly died under Klingon hands? What was his prognosis for a full recovery? And over and over and over again: _would he be attending Council tomorrow? _

Sarek fielded questions with terse answers until he reached the refuge of his office, where he discovered his aides were also under a form of desperate siege not even seen in the pre-Reform wars, for the clan of Surak was more inclined to place others under siege, than to suffer it themselves. "What is going **on**?" Sarek asked.

"The fact of your son's return to Vulcan was previously not widely circulated," Sarek's chief aide intoned, striving for Vulcan calm amid the storm of blinking comm lights. "Only certain Council members and a few select others were made aware of it. All personal associates or close allies. Those present at your recent social occasion, for example. But they were aware it was not general knowledge to be shared with others until you yourself announced or otherwise released it to the public. Your associates are well aware of your tendency to …ah…not discuss… your heir."

"Obviously it has now circulated," Sarek said tersely. "But who is behind creating this controversy? Particularly now, just before the opening of Council?"

Sarek's aides looked among each other. The eldest tilted his head in a Vulcan shrug and said, "Spock."

"You're suggesting Spock engineered a cry for him to attend Council?" Sarek asked. "Impossible."

"Not deliberately. And not for that. But with Spock's surfacing last night in a popular musical venue, and his impromptu performance, word of his return to Vulcan has spread rapidly through the general populace - among which it had **not** been general knowledge. And those in the know now felt free to talk, given his very public appearance."

"His very public appearance?" Sarek echoed.

"Many youth, even some faculty from the Vulcan Science Academy, frequent that establishment. The news thus traveled widely through the Science Academy and related institutions. And while popular with the VSA crowd, that establishment is also frequented by Shikahr youth and young adults. So from there it spread throughout the general populace in Shikahr – which as you know is now resided in by many clans, not just our own. It is safe to say that from being previously confined to the awareness of only a select few - your political and social allies, who wouldn't dream of gossiping too avidly about Spock given your previous views regarding him - now the fact of his return is fully out for consumption by the general public, across all clans. Indeed, now there is probably not a segment of Vulcan society, Vulcan or outworlder, unaware of Spock's return and it's interesting circumstances. That you had previously virtually suppressed all overt mention of him seems to have laid fuel to this fire. There is now great interest and speculation regarding him, particularly in his attending Council tomorrow."

Sarek mentally cursed how his careful plans had gone awry in one careless action by Spock. "Well, I may not allow it then," he growled.

Sarek's aides shared significant glances. "Sarek. I think that would be unwise."

"His recovery is still quite tentative," Sarek said. "I had no objection for him to attend before, sans any demand or expectations from him. But under this current glare of interest, I think not. He is not ready for such scrutiny."

"Perhaps before last night, Vulcans might accept such. But not even outworlders would accept that excuse. Certainly not Vulcans. Not now."

"Now?"

"After the events of last evening." Under Sarek's steady gaze, the aide illuminated. "Sarek, Spock melded an outworlder musical group without touch. He then projected that blending out to an audience of mixed Vulcans and outworlders for anyone who chose to drop shields to perceive. Word from among those who were there is that, if he had chosen, he could have projected further without the recipients even bothering to drop shields. Though of course, Spock would never do such a thing - outside of a battle situation perhaps," he added, at Sarek's sharp glance.

"I don't see the interest in crediting the comments of undisciplined children," Sarek said forbiddingly, grateful his control held through this astonishing statement, and trying his best to put a lid on the subject. Though he had a sinking suspicion that the situation had already gone past even his formidable abilities to contain.

"The **children** may be largely discussing the musical performance and discounting the rest. But to those of any maturity - and there **were** adults there - the actual telepathic performance was …allegedly…spellbinding. While the circumstance of the incident was trivial, the ability was remarkable. There was little doubt from those present that should he have chosen, he could have projected past any ability to shield. Council has been quite riveted by the report of this feat. Such an ability is somewhat reminiscent of the historical event of Surak convincing the warrior clan leaders from across the battlefield. Spock's telepathic skills are unusual - almost such they could almost be considered pre-Reform in nature. Certainly something of a throwback to that era."

Sarek inwardly winced at that characterization. Calling Spock's abilities pre-Reform could be taken two ways. Sarek was wary of anyone assigning less than perfect control to Spock. He certainly could not condone such a characterization. "That is an exaggeration."

"Still they are exceptional."

"He is still little more than a child," Sarek dismissed firmly, "Who displayed a momentary lack of control due to a temporary indisposure. And I don't care to waste further time on the undisciplined reports of children." With that, he dismissed his aides, and tried to put the disturbing conversation from his mind as he assembled the first meeting of the day.

Vulcans had apparently been given warning not to raise the subject further with him. But aliens were not so biddable. Sarek had convened a group to discuss Abraxis, but the first word out of the Catullan Ambassador was not to do with politics, but with their respective sons.

Mwang Rad was no telepath and had no interest in such. But he lost no time in telling Sarek his son Tong had dined with Spock the night previous, mentioned that Tong had met Spock previously on the Enterprise and that he was pleased to think of them both now at the VSA together. Sarek knew enough of Tong Rad's past exploits that he inwardly shuddered at this association. With Vulcan control he managed to steer the conversation back onto the appropriate subject without giving away his own reaction to the news of these events.

One of his old associates, Ambassador Regan of Thendara was not so easily dissuaded, hanging behind after the others have left.

"Very interesting. You know, you hadn't even told **me** about all these new developments."

"There have been no new developments," Sarek said.

"Spock back home - your home - for weeks - and some of his fellow Starfleet officers staying with him. Living there. You have to admit, glad as I was to see him home and you accepting him at the party, that was a switch for you, Sarek."

"Where else should he convalesce?" Sarek dismissed as if it were a rhetorical question. Which based on his history with Spock and Starfleet, it most definitely was not. As Regan well knew.

"And now this. You know two of my kids were in that club last night," Regan said. "They came home raving. Not just for the music, but the telepathic projection was incredible. The incident's spreading like wildfire. The kids loved it."

Sarek found himself sinking into a chair at this dual confirmation. Regan was a considerable telepath, and his children had inherited the trait. They would not be mistaken in their perception or the reaction of the crowd.

"Plus, parts were recorded and rebroadcast."

"Rebroadcast," Sarek echoed. There went his control of the situation. When Amanda had first arrived on Vulcan he had held some control over media on the planet. But for many years Vulcan had been too deeply entrenched in the Federation for such simplistic controls to be effective any longer.

"There were personal recorders there. It went up in the netsphere, and now is out on every kid's playback chip. Not to mention kids - Vulcan and outworlder - are already lining up outside that club, camping out, eager to get in on tonight's live performance, trying to secure a seat. Look," he swiveled Sarek's communication terminal around, tapped a few inputs, and turned the screen to show Sarek a news report from outside the club Spock had played at, showing the line of camped out young people, some with their own musical instruments holding an impromptu concert, oblivious of the Vulcan heat. In the front group was Tong Rad, with his portable sunshade emblazoned with "Spock Rocks" in green paint. Before the door, a stressed out Gorn bouncer was striving to keep order.

Sarek's brows rose at this. "I can promise you there will be **no further performances**. Not from Spock."

Regan picked up a ceremonial dagger from Sarek's desk and twirled it. "I don't know that will go over too well. Everyone is talking, Sarek. Outworlders and Vulcans. Spock's a little too well known, by reputation if not personally, to drop in on a popular establishment like that, give that kind of performance, and not expect it to generate a buzz of interest. People were curious about him before, but they didn't think they knew him. Now they are really curious."

Sarek began to think that perhaps Starfleet might actually have been a good hiding place for Spock, if he had such tendencies. A ship of only a few hundred, generally far out in deep space might be the only secure holding area for a Vulcan juvenile delinquent. And it might serve very well to secrete him there yet again, at least until this blew over and Sarek could manage the results. "It is unfair to judge Spock on the basis of a temporary mis-step due to his convalescence."

"Mis-step? Regan frowned. "I mean, Spock's obviously convalescing - my kids said he looked thin and drawn. Very poorly. They almost didn't recognize him till he projected - then they couldn't mistake his aura. But I think you're misreading the mood. Spock's reputation is actually pretty high on Vulcan, you know. In spite of your never mentioning him, word gets out anyway. The news that he's back, and **why** he's back, was percolating very quietly, but most people were waiting to see if he showed up at Council. If he was going to be out publicly. He never has before, you know. When he's come home, he visits with Amanda for a few days, does a little camping, maybe sees a few people very privately and leaves just as quietly. He doesn't make a public splash. This incident put him squarely in the public eye. Now everyone is discussing his return and what it means for Vulcan."

"Certainly that is a situation I did not wish, until he was ready for such attentions."

Regan sighed. "Sarek, you have got to stop trying to marginalize Spock. Your reputation is pretty high among Vulcans, as you well know. And outworlders too. But even with Vulcans I don't think it will survive your hiding him away any longer."

Sarek's eyes flashed. "Hiding him?"

"That's what it's beginning to look like. Not to me, but honestly, **even** to me, it's coming close to that. And to the non-Vulcan part of the Federation, Spock's become a real source of interest. Someone who went into the human-dominated Starfleet and came out close to the command of one of their mere dozen top Starships. He's an alien in their human military. It's quite an accomplishment, to make it through that culture. And you know the Alliance, and other affiliates feel a little iffy about Starfleet heavy cruisers in their backyards, conned by humans. They're not happy about the ships, or the humans. But that a Vulcan is there, to many, is a good thing. He's beaten them at their own game, so to speak. It's a credit to Vulcan. A win for them too, by association. He's succeeded as an alien in their world."

"That's illogical."

"It's emotional," Regan countered. "Not everyone is Vulcan. And that's how many in the Alliance take it. Not all, of course. But to a lot Spock is a virtual hero in that regard."

Sarek's chief aide had entered the room during this discussion, had been listening and now intervened. "I concur. Spock's return from Starfleet, with his human Captain, is considered an excellent tribute to Vulcan, to him, and to **you**, Sarek."

"Vulcans do not wholly approve of Starfleet."

"Perhaps they would not choose to have him **command** such a ship - no more than they would wish you to be president of the Federation. We are not them. But that he acts in an advisory role to his human Captain, that Vulcan ideals and philosophies balance the human's command, that Starfleet is wise enough to place a Vulcan in such a position, is considered a tribute to the progress the Alliance is making in the Federation. And that he opposes the enemies of peace - the Klingons and Romulans - and returns victorious, even if injured - is also considered a tribute to him. And to you. And to his mother. A young_ Surak. _A warrior for peace. **That** is what is being said among Vulcans today."

Sarek gave a slight long-suffering, almost human sigh at this. "That is an entirely romantic, pre-Reform notion, fostered no doubt by the imminent celebration of the Council reconvening. My son would be the first to discount it."

"It is," the aide said. "And I have no doubt he would. But Vulcans revere their history. All logic aside, they long to see it reflected in their present leaders. In you as statesman, going out to negotiate with the Federation at large. And in Spock as warrior, to fight our battles as a young heir should. It is why our society retains such positions and references. It is his destiny."

"His destiny," Sarek said tersely, losing his patience, "was to teach at the Science Academy."

"I know that was what you wanted," Regan began.

"That was your wish, Sarek," the aide countered. "To shield him. But he does not belong to you."

Sarek stared at the aide, pole-axed. "He is my-"

"Since he was first sealed to Council at three, he has belonged to Council. The Science Academy was not his destiny. This is. With the news that Spock has returned, the populace is enthralled to see this continuation of the line of Surak, personified in your son, the one destined to lead Council in the future. The Council has been flooded with inquiries as to his attendance. It is his destiny and his duty. He must attend."

"He was considering attending," Sarek said. "And I had no objection to his doing so, given I thought his presence would be little regarded. But now I think I must forbid it. He is too fragile, yet, to take all this attention. His shields are weak."

"You can't forbid it, Sarek," the aide said. "No longer."

Sarek lifted his eyes in astonishment to this presumptuousness.

"When he was fully a child and you kept him shielded and apart, there were few that would speak against it. No one can fault a father for wishing to protect a child. And Spock's position was unique. But he is past childhood in that sense. Your sheltering him now could be regarded as less than estimable - the marginalizing of a rival, even. Not the sheltering of a father."

"I care little what others may infer from my actions," Sarek snapped. "As his parent, it is my duty to determine what is best for him."

"But it is **my** duty to advise **you**. He was out in public, manifesting gifts that are uniquely Vulcan, uniquely of the line of Surak. He has brought a renewed interest in our history as manifest in our warrior line."

"Spock's shields may not be up to a full day of Council. It is trying for even lesser telepaths than he."

"He must at least be present in **some** capacity at Council." The aide hesitated, seeing Sarek's expression. "I know your evaluation of Spock is otherwise. And I have held my tongue knowing this, where perhaps I might have spoken before. It is a father's right to raise a son as he chooses. But the son has grown, and in this I believe I must advise you. Spock should be present at Council tomorrow. They wish to honor him."

"Spock is not seeking honors."

"Sometimes seeking other truths, honors come. Council will look amiss if he is not there. And I have heard from T'Pau as well."

Sarek winced inwardly. "She **has** seen him."

"She is not insisting he attend Council. But if he is well enough and wishes to attend, but you order otherwise, she has intimated she could decree it. Of course, she does not wish to incur further discord between yourself and your child. Or between you and herself."

"Indeed," Sarek said tersely. "She has done enough of that."

"It would be **very** helpful to know Spock's intent as to Council," Sarek's aide said. "Because we are being flooded with requests from Vulcans and the Vulcan media. Fortunately, the interest has not yet spread to the outworlder media."

Sarek closed his eyes briefly at that horrendous possibility. "I will speak to Spock. Obviously, if he is well enough, perhaps it is best for him to show himself at Council to deflect this curiosity."

The aide nodded and left.

And Sarek tried to work. But it was clear no one had a thought for anything other than Council reconvening tomorrow, and the speculation as to Spock's appearance. Sarek finally despaired at getting any work done amid the constant calls and queries. He went home to what appeared to be an empty house. Empty of guests and troublesome offspring that is.

Seeking his wife, he found her up in the media center, the floor to ceiling windows polarized against the Vulcan sun, the room's air conditioning - always a bit cooler to protect the many ancient bindings - working hard against the heat of the Vulcan day. Amanda had snagged a sweater similar to what Spock had been wearing, one that always hung on a hook by the door to make it comfortable for her to work in this non-Vulcan atmosphere. She was chatting via viewscreen to someone. Sarek waited impatiently the moment or two before she noted his presence and signed off.

"You're home very early," she noted.

"Where is that child?"

Her eyes widened a bit at his tone. "He and his friends went off to watch the _Enterprise_ hook together. Or something."

Sarek shook his head slightly. "Your technical knowledge is surpassed only by your lack of interest."

"Hey," she said, slightly aggrieved. "Ship maintenance is not in my line. But Jim was all excited over it, and he dragged Spock off to share in what was allegedly a momentously beautiful experience. Leonard too. I declined the honor. I've sat through enough ceremonial occasions by force, enough to recognize when to get out of one by choice." She sat back, frowning up at him. "What's wrong?"

"You did not tell me precisely **what** was being discussed at the Academy this morning."

Amanda blinked at that. "I surely did."

"You certainly did not fully express the scope of the phenomenon."

"Oh, it's a phenomena now, is it?" she said evasively.

"Amanda..."

"I thought it might, you know, blow over," she said, giving him a sideways, cautious glance. "It did seem to be quite a topic of conversation. But," she shrugged her shoulders, "people **are** curious about Spock. They don't like to ask me, because, well, they know what your attitude has been toward him. And because we have sheltered him, not wanting him to be the subject of gossip and curiosity. So I don't think everyone is saying too much in front of **me**. What are people saying to you?"

"He played at a music venue last evening." He studied her face. "You knew that."

"What was the purpose of all those music lessons and practice, if he isn't going to play?" she asked, human innocent.

"In front of patrons in a common establishment?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You don't mind him getting in front of a classroom and teaching at the VSA, do you?"

"Amanda, the two are entirely different."

"Oh, I don't know," Amanda said, with forty years of teaching experience behind her. "Isn't it all more or less performing before a bunch of critical youngsters and hoping they don't throw rotten fruit at you? At least he seems to have been spared that, by all reported accounts."

"Amanda..." he growled.

"Stop saying my name like it is some sort of warning," she scowled. "So he played some music with his old band. "

"What?" Sarek asked suspiciously, and then sat back, shaking his head. "Do not tell me. I don't wish to know. What you **should** know is that I have been strongly advised to have Spock present before Council tomorrow."

"Why?" Amanda asked, worried now. "Do they plan to haul him on the carpet for it? I'm sure it can't have tarnished his precious Vulcan reputation all **that** much."

"They wish to honor him."

"For playing music?"

"For returning triumphant from the enemy."

"Oh, my," She frowned. "**That** doesn't sound very Vulcan."

"I think the opening of council has caught them up in more than usual pre-Reform fervor. With Vulcans, it can be dangerous to embrace the old traditions even in a purely ritualistic way."

"Tell me about it," Amanda said absently but with particular personal fervor. "Well. He will hate that. He shuns notice and attention."

"Apart from playing in front of ruffians in a common bar."

"You know, if that's the worst he's ever done, I'd say we're ahead as parents," Amanda argued. "He is a good kid."

"With moments of extreme juvenile delinquency that should be curbed. And I would hardly call associating with Tong Rad a promising start to his residence on Vulcan."

"Um, well, maybe," Amanda admitted, one with Sarek in that. "I don't think he meant to hook up with Rad. It just happened."

"Happened, indeed. But outside of his emotional reaction to the notice that you claim he prefers to shun, I have to more seriously consider whether he is well enough to face such concerted attention throughout the Council day. Before this development, his plan to attend more or less as a child in the background involved a very different scenario than having a large retinue of Council members wishing to impose tribute upon him, good intentions or no."

"Yes. He really will hate that," she agreed.

"Then perhaps he should have chosen a different course than Starfleet," Sarek retorted.

"Oh, Sarek. Just stop it. That's all done and past." Amanda chewed her lip. "I don't know about this. He's lived in a very small community lately. A few hundred people isolated on a ship in deep space. And he was very sheltered as a child. I really don't want to see him dumped into the limelight so abruptly. And when he is not well, to boot."

"My thoughts precisely."

"Isn't it amazing we are thinking alike on Spock for once," she said dryly, giving her husband a look. "I think I may have to go up and shout a proclamation from the parapets to give the population something to marvel at."

"I don't think the sarcasm is warranted, my wife."

"Humph. Well, we'll just have to tell him and let him decide."

"I don't think so."

"He's really not a child any more, Sarek. You can't keep sheltering him forever."

"In time. When he is no longer convalescing."

"It's always 'in time' and 'when' for you with him," she argued. "When he's mastered this, when he's grown out of that. When he's more Vulcan. Or less human. Or more like **you**. Sarek, just finally please accept that he is what he is. I think it's time for you to let go, and let him handle it."

"Amanda, he is still very much a child."

"In **your** eyes. I don't really see that. And maybe not so much in anyone else's anymore."

"Not in yours?" Sarek asked, as if astonished.

"Well," she shrugged. "He'll always be my child. I can't help that."

"No more can I."

She bit back a smile at that. "I know. In spite of all that bluster and criticism and forbidding glares. I do know. And I really do love you, you know." She gave him a quick hug, which, caught up in Vulcan control, rigidly repressing his emotions, he entirely disregarded. "But, Spock has grown up. I think it is time," she continued, "for **both** of us to let him go."

"Never."

"I thought you had done with never," she teased.

"It is," he admitted reluctantly, "very hard."

"I know, my husband," she took his hand in hers, the two fingers of the Vulcan kiss, and gave each a very human kiss in turn. "How I know."

_To be continued..._


	51. Chapter 51

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 51**

"Speaking of pretty sights," Amanda said to Sarek, later that day. They were indulging themselves by having tea in the garden. Their usual custom was to dine outdoors when weather permitted, but with so many unacclimated outworlder guests, they'd forgone that habit. Right now, though, Amanda wasn't looking at the garden view.

Sarek followed her nodding glance to watch Spock and his friends leaving the hangar. The three Starfleet officers came toward the house, comfortably relaxed, as if the Fortress had in some respects come to be home to all of them. At one point Kirk, in an outburst of affection, wrapped an arm around each of his senior officers, joining them together in a brief exuberant hug. Spock tilted his head at this, tolerantly forgiving of such license. Even with the Vulcan guards there, he didn't seem embarrassed.

"He's wearing a Starfleet uniform," Sarek noted, his voice exceptionally even, the cadence of Vulcan control.

"Jim brought him one."

"Indeed," Sarek said, an edge cutting into to his tone at this development. "How very thoughtful of the Captain."

"Spock **is** still a Starfleet officer."

"Given Spock's present condition, that was a bit insensitive of Kirk, don't you agree?"

Amanda shrugged uncomfortably. "Oh, I don't know. I'll admit, I had a bad moment over it myself at first. But Jim was so happy about it, that I just couldn't take his gesture amiss."

"I don't necessarily share your indulgent attitude."

Amanda glanced at her husband's brooding countenance. "Jim's been through an awful lot too, you know. Just because he doesn't wear his scars on the outside, as Spock does, doesn't mean he doesn't bear them. It was a brutal experience for him as well."

"It is a consequence of his profession," Sarek pointed out. "And Kirk is, by human standards, an adult. I am more concerned with my child."

"Jim will be devastated if Spock doesn't return to Starfleet."

"If?" Sarek turned toward her. "You can't seriously believe that he will?"

"I never count Spock out," Amanda said dryly, eyes on her son.

"Even Captain Kirk must acknowledge the reality of the situation."

"Oh, Sarek," Amanda said, sitting back, shaking her head. "Jim loves Spock so much. It's as if he's trying to make him better, by sheer force of will. It's sweet, really."

Sarek tilted his head at that, Vulcan exasperated at such human emotion. "That is an exceptionally human view to take."

"I **am** human. And I, for one, am glad our son has had such friends to care for him at this time. And before. Spock's needed a little love."

"Amanda."

"Maybe if **we'd** done a better job in that department, not been so absent. Or if you had chosen a better wife for him than that awful T'Pring, then he would have felt more accepted on Vulcan," she argued. "And never had to leave."

"No child could have been better provided for," Sarek said, with a frown. "He did not **have** to leave."

"I warrant you put a lot of thought and planning into his life. He was **managed**. But I don't think either of us did the best job we could in caring for him."

"You're speaking emotionally."

"We left him alone an awful lot, Sarek," she said, worried eyes on her son. "If he stays here, we can't do that again. Not until he has friends and a wife and family of his own."

"He **was** bonded," Sarek countered, eyes also following his son. "Parentally and in a marriage bond."

"I don't think either of those worked overly well for him," Seeing Sarek frown, she added. "This isn't all on you. I didn't do a very good job of loving him either. Too much at times, and too little at others. And I can't deny I harbored a bit of resentment over his Vulcan choices as he grew older, and maybe that came through as rejection. Actually, I am sure it did - I can be a little blunt in my opinions. He never could fully please us both. I think that tormented him. Until he had to go elsewhere to get his head clear."

Sarek had nothing to say to that, watching as the three _Enterprise_ officers came through the gate.

"And let's not forget," Amanda said, "that if Jim weren't such a friend to him, Spock might not have been rescued from the Klingons. And you might not be alive either, come to think of it. Jim went on duty, badly injured, during a battle situation, just so that Spock could donate blood for your surgery. We owe Jim a great deal."

"Kirk is here in our home, is he not?" Sarek said.

"I think we owe him a bit more than the hospitality due our son's guest."

"I have done what I can," Sarek said ambiguously.

Amanda regarded him dubiously. "I just saying we should be grateful to him."

Sarek gave a little unVulcan sigh, a concession to his own frustrated loss of emotional control. "I'll concede Captain Kirk is a paragon of virtue - in some respects. In others, I'll retain my reservations."

"Well, while you're reserving judgment, just consider that," Amanda nodded at Spock as he wound through the formal gardens. "When was the last time before this visit, that you've seen Spock home, and in a Fleet uniform, so contented, so relaxed and so **happy**?"

"Happy?" Sarek asked, with a frown of distaste at this characterization.

"As opposed to showing up as a duty visit to me, dreading dealing with our expectations. I was worried that visit to the _Enterprise_ would upset him. But it seems to have done him some good. Just look at the set of his shoulders. He's not tense, not anticipating the world is going to fall on him. At least at the moment, he's **comfortable. **Coming back here. Being home. That's what I've been longing to see. I don't see it often. Let's try not to do anything now to spoil that."

Sarek flicked a brow. "Such as have a word with him about a certain establishment that had to have the peace forcers dispel a riot when the crowd was informed Spock would **not** be performing this evening?"

"Yes," Amanda said, with a quick glance to her husband. "Let's **not** tell him about that. At least not until after he's had tea. And maybe dinner. And maybe **never**. It's not his fault a crowd gathered and then over-reacted. Most of the belligerents were outworlders, not Vulcans, so you can't claim Spock corrupted their pure Vulcan morals. And the Gorn was only bruised, not seriously injured. I mean, in the grand scope of things, is it really that important?"

"Spock does need to learn to consider the result of his actions."

"I think maybe half his problems are that he ponders things too much." She stood up, calling and waving to show the _Enterprise_ officers where they were before the group went into the house. "Let's try not to be so critical, Sarek," she said, sitting back down, "that he decides to **ponder** his way back to Starfleet in some capacity. We still don't know how he's going to jump."

"I think his immediate future is a given," Sarek returned under his breath, conscious of his approaching son's Vulcan hearing.

xxx

Spock had reflexively halted half a step at the sight of his formidable father, shoulders straightening from their previous relaxed posture as he recalled the unfinished business from the night before. With Kirk automatically matching him, it turned out McCoy approached the table first.

"Don't you all look comfy," he said, greedily eyeing the pitcher of tea on the table.

"We usually do take tea in the garden," Amanda said. "It's a custom we've more or less forgone since you've come, because for those newly acclimated to Vulcan, indoors is generally more comfortable."

"But this is very pretty," McCoy said, looking around at the myriad roses. His wandering gaze went to fall pointedly on Spock. "You are lucky to have all this."

"Actually quite a few Vulcan homes are growing roses these days," Amanda said, gazing with some complacency out at her gardens, started by Sarek upon her marriage, but by now a famous Vulcan landmark. "If in a smaller way."

"For private consumption," Sarek commented, pouring himself more tea. "**Not** for the alleged beauty of the flowers. My wife refuses to acknowledge that to the Vulcan eye, the blooms themselves appear rather garish and vulgar."

"And there was a time when all the best people had deer parks," Spock said with amused irony, hands behind his back, demurely Vulcan even, or perhaps especially, when he was making something of a joke.

Less well read than his son in some respects, Sarek glanced curiously at Spock, not taking in the reference. But Amanda chuckled.

"All right, then none of my roses for you," Amanda told her son with rueful fondness. "Brat."

Spock flicked a brow, unrepentant.

"Well, they look pretty enough to these human eyes. And I could surely use some of that tea. Just breathing the air on this planet," McCoy remarked as he sat down with a gusty sigh, "particularly after being on the Enterprise in Earth normal conditions, makes me feel like I've descended into an inferno."

T'Jar had come out silently, seeing the Enterprise officer's approach, bearing a tray with renewed refreshments and settings.

"How was the _Enterprise_?" Amanda asked, pouring McCoy a glass and looking toward Captain Kirk. "Did the reassembly go well?"

"It did," Kirk said, waiting for Spock to seat himself before pulling up a chair of his own.

"It sounds like a starship is a sort of giant jigsaw puzzle, doesn't it," Amanda commented, giving Kirk a glass, but shaking her head slightly at her son when he reached for the same. "No," she said. "I do think you should have juice, Spock. Or something with more nutrition than tea."

Spock flicked a brow at her but resignedly put down the pitcher of tea he had picked up and poured himself a glass of juice.

"Was it a miraculous, beautiful sight?" Amanda asked Kirk.

"I think so," he replied, with a slight edge to his voice at this hyperbole, and frowning at her command over her son.

"I'm sorry," Amanda said, flushing at his tone. "I honestly wasn't trying to make light of it. I just-"

"Have very little regard for ships," Spock said, bailing out his mother, giving her a forgiving look. "I think to our Mr. Scott you would be considered quite a philistine."

Kirk smiled faintly, visibly relaxing just at hearing Spock refer to the Chief Engineer as 'our Mr. Scott'."

"And the trials will last three days?" Sarek politely inquired, since it seemed they had to talk about starships.

"Yes," Kirk said, a bit tersely.

"I'm sure they'll go well," Amanda reassured him, as if his tension was related more to the Enterprise than to what could happen after the Enterprise returned. "Well, today you had the pageantry of Starfleet. Tomorrow," Amanda said, "we'll have a uniquely Vulcan sort of pageantry."

"I suppose to outworlder eyes, the opening of Council does seem a somewhat archaic, even barbaric ceremony," Spock mused, sipping his juice, one regretful eye on the tea pitcher.

"Humph," McCoy said, thinking that for sheer barbarism in ceremonies, at least to his outworlder eyes, little could surpass a Vulcan wedding. "Dare I consider giving it a miss then?"

"It's not that bad," Amanda said to McCoy, "It's rather beautiful in some respects. And Spock, if you really **want** tea," Amanda added to her son, not missing Spock's gaze.

Spock shook himself slightly. "You're correct in your analysis that tea has less nutritional value. But I had a long night and the caffeine would also be welcome."

Sarek glanced at Spock a bit critically, thinking of what had gone on during that night. Not missing that, Spock sat up a fraction.

"Getting back to Council, if you never seen it before, it's splendid," Amanda said. "After that, since the ceremony is largely the same year after year, it can be equally tedious."

"Given very little of my experience with Vulcans has been uneventful," McCoy said, raising his glass in ironic toast, "I'll vote for splendidly tedious." He took a big swig and sighed in satisfaction.

"Speaking of the opening of Council," Sarek said, addressing Spock, "there have been some questions as to whether you definitely plan to attend. Your grandmother has also enquired."

Spock gave his father a wary look. "I can attend or not, as you choose."

"Are you well enough?" Sarek asked. "It is a brutal day for a telepath."

A line appeared between Spock's brows, still sensitive since his return from Klingon hands to being pushed in any respect. "How can I answer that?" he said, a bit testily. "I have far from regained the absolute control expected of those who have mastered the disciplines. I may fail in that regard." _Fail you_, was the implication.

"You couldn't possibly do that," Amanda assured him warmly.

Far from appeasing him, this reassurance fell flat to Spock. In fact, the line between his brows deepened into a genuine frown in rejection of what apparently seemed almost insulting hyperbole. He sat back a little from the table as if in repudiation of such patent past untruths, and said coldly. "I don't need to attend, obviously."

"Whoa," McCoy said, looking from one to the other. Momentarily basking in cold tea and fragrant roses, he'd missed the sudden chill that had risen up among them. "I don't think anyone's implying that you shouldn't, Spock. Just asking if you feel well enough. Right, Sarek?"

"Obviously, the estimation is that I am **not**," Spock said coldly. "And possibly will never be."

"Just wait a minute," McCoy said to Spock, reacting a bit reflexively himself to Spock's frigid tone, reminiscent of dozens of Spock/McCoy altercations. "You are getting way ahead of yourself here."

"I think not." Spock shifted to get up. But he never made it past McCoy's finger, pointing at his nose.

"Sit down!" McCoy thundered. "And shut up!"

Very few people in Spock's life ever said those words to him. And rarely in that tone and with even tacit authority to rule him. The sheer emotion, in this Vulcan setting, momentarily stunned everyone at the table into silence. Even Spock froze, then sank back in his chair, his countenance a thundercloud, but unmoving.

"Hell, I'm sorry, McCoy apologized, striving hard to gear his tone back to sweet reason. "Spock, you **know** that I have been on your side through this. And I think, all in all, you've gotten through a terrible ordeal with almost unbelievable grace. So you can take what I am telling you now as the truth. You were just behaving as a spoiled adolescent brat. That's twice in two days. Last night, when you ran out of the house. And again just now. "

"Doctor," Sarek began, frigid in turn.

"You shut up too," McCoy said, "because I'm damned if I am not going to have my say once and for all about this. For all this telepathy and bonding you all apparently share," he added, looking around the table, "I've rarely been among any family that seems to have so much trouble communicating on the simplest of things. All of you," he added with a glare to Amanda.

She sat back, eyes wide.

"The problem with an adult child coming home after a long absence is that **everyone** involved can revert back to past methods of association." McCoy turned to Sarek, pointing a finger at him. "Your son is no longer a teen. Vulcan lifespan or not. Whatever expectations your culture may have about him taking direction from his elders, he's been on his own a couple of decades." McCoy turned back to Spock. "And you, Spock, don't need to respond to your father like a put-upon kid. Just because you ran out of the house at eighteen doesn't mean it's a good life choice now. Or that you need to do that forever more at every conflict with your father, just because you did it once. Sarek was merely asking you, very nicely and with commendable concern, if you felt well enough for this shindig tomorrow. He didn't ask you about any Vulcan disciplines. Instead of answering him politely, you got all huffy. So you owe him an apology."

Spock eyes narrowed, unconvinced and unrepentant.

"Resolve to think twice in the future before you get all bent out of shape over perceived past wrongs, however valid they were. And then answer him again." McCoy twisted to look a warning over his shoulder at Sarek. "And should your father ever, in future, speak to you in a disrespectful way, one that denies your past life experience, though I don't think he was doing that right now, feel free to remind him, again politely, that you are not a child."

Sarek flicked a skeptical Vulcan brow at this.

McCoy turned to frown at the elder Vulcan. "And then **you **would owe your son an apology. That goes double if you try to ignore or shun him in the shameful way I watched you do on the _Enterprise_.

Spock raised both his brows in astonishment at that.

"If you expect him to respect you," McCoy doggedly continued, "then you had damn well better respect him. Because he's earned that." McCoy sat back, flushed and heated, waving his hand before his face to make a breeze. "And I swear I'm ready to hang up my shingle for good if I have to get into this yet again, because that's all I really have to say."

"Wow," Amanda said.

"Hell, I forgot about **you**," McCoy said, turning to her.

Amanda jumped a little in her chair. Sarek put a hand over hers, and but before even he could say anything, Spock straightened. "That's enough, Doctor."

"So no one can say anything against Mom, huh?" McCoy said. "Well, you do seem less pigheaded and stubborn than your two Vulcans," he said to Amanda. "But you keep in mind what I said to your husband."

"He is quite emotional, isn't he?" Sarek said ostensibly to Spock. "I wonder how it is possible to function, especially in a military situation, with that handicap."

"We manage just fine," Kirk snapped, in solidarity with his crew.

"I am curious, Doctor," Sarek said, ignoring Kirk, hand still protectively over Amanda's, "since you appear to be so knowledgeable about parent-child relations, what your own background might be?"

"Turn the shoe on the other foot, huh?" McCoy said. He slouched back in his chair, fiddling with his tea.

"Sarek," Kirk said warily, protective of McCoy, "In Fleet we don't-"

"No, it's all right, Jim," McCoy countered. "Can't dish it out if I can't take it."

"Was your father also a physician?" Sarek asked.

His question was a bit barbed, but McCoy noted that at least at the moment he was also taking the pressure off Spock, who had yet to reply even to Sarek's remark about emotional humans. Given Spock still appeared at a loss, he nodded at Sarek, willing to let the focus be on him long enough for Spock to recover his equilibrium. And painful as it might be to recount his own personal history, there was a lesson here as well.

"Did I follow in my father's footsteps, as expected, you mean? Yes, to that. My Daddy was a physician, and my Granddaddy. I come from a long, long line of physicians. A family trait, you might say."

"Quite," Sarek said, as if he had made a point. "What is his view on your profession now taking you into deep space? Does he approve?"

McCoy shook his head. "Can't say he would have liked it. We had things worked out a little differently. But then things didn't quite go as planned."

"You never told me much of this, Bones," Kirk said. "And you don't need to now, if you don't want to."

"You're right, Jim. People tend not to discuss backgrounds much in the service. Or ask too many questions. Unless someone volunteers the info. Since Sarek's asking, I'll volunteer. Yeah," McCoy turned back to Sarek, "My daddy was a surgeon too, in a big flight Atlanta Med Center. Had a little side practice at home, sort of consulting with my Granddad, who had an old fashioned general practice. My dad used to work Saturdays for him, just seeing local folks for minor surgical things. I used to hang out all the time in their offices, general dogsbody, helper. Most likely just getting in the way." McCoy shrugged, smiling to himself in ironical reminiscence. "Getting ready to join the family practice, so to speak."

"But you did not join it?" Sarek asked.

McCoy shrugged. "Planned to. But then one night, the computers in the traffic routing grid malfunctioned. All the supposed fail safes," McCoy set his jaw, his voice rife with irony and resentment, "failed. I lost both my parents." He met Jim's eyes musingly. "'Fraid I never much cared for aircars or computers myself after that, Jim boy."

"Bones!" Kirk said, his eyes huge at this.

McCoy shrugged. "I went to live with my Granddaddy. We always got along real well. Planned to join him in his practice, just as before, though it hit him hard too. Aged him overnight. He was looking forward to retiring when I got my shingle. But then in my second year of med school, he died. Heart attack," he said looking at Sarek. "No warning. Well, his practice closed down with no one able to carry it on. Lost my Gran a year later. She just couldn't live without him. I didn't like being all alone, so I made a damn foolish, disastrous marriage, on the rebound, you might say."

"Leonard," Amanda said, "you don't have to-"

"No, it's all right. Long time ago," McCoy said. "We moved to Boston, a combination of my ego, a bit of running away, and her social sense. Mass General was the most prestigious hospital that offered me a residency, and my wife liked the social possibilities there. And I thought there was nothing but ghosts left for me in Atlanta." McCoy shrugged. "But I'm a Georgia boy at heart. Medicine was the only thing that kept me content in Boston. But turned out, when it came to it, she didn't much care for the long hours and emergencies in a doctor's life. She tried to get me to take an administrative position there, teaching, research, and give up hands on practice. I couldn't. We finally realized we had nothing in common but our daughter. But my wife had a very good divorce lawyer," McCoy said ruefully. He missed Sarek stiffening at the word. "And I'd been a little too present at the hospital and absent from my daughter's life. So then my wife got custody, and there I was, all alone again. And blaming myself for six kinds of a fool." He sighed a bit. "I thought about going home to Georgia, but I was pretty mad at myself. So I went into Fleet - computers, ships. All the things I hated most, distrusted most. As a penance, you might say. An exile." He met Sarek's eyes evenly. "So when I speak of the dangers of losing a child to dedication to work, I speak from **experience**, Sarek." His eyes trailed to Spock. "And I think a lot of people that end up in Fleet, do so as much because of some tragedy, some inability to fit at home as for _wanderlust_. You certainly need the latter to make it in Fleet. But a bit of the former often tips the scale into getting you to enlist. You and Spock, Sarek, you have that history with each other. But you don't have to continue it. And even if Spock returns to Fleet, you shouldn't continue it. You are both better people than that, by far."

Spock had lowered his head through McCoy's speech. His longer hair made it almost impossible to see his face. But after a moment, he drew a cautious breath, met his father's eyes and said. "I do regret my rudeness, Father."

"And -" McCoy prompted. When Spock looked puzzled, McCoy prompted, "What about Council?"

Spock frowned slightly and shrugged one shoulder, forgetting himself in a quintessentially human gesture. "I had thought to attend."

"Fine." McCoy looked at Sarek with a raised brow. "Got that?" he asked mildly. "He's going. Now I think you owe your son an apology."

Sarek had been thinking about that revealing human shrug in his Vulcan son's body language, and the resulting contamination of eighteen years of nearly solely human interaction. He raised both brows at McCoy's surprising demand.

"Vulcans don't have the concept," Amanda began, eyeing her husband cautiously.

"They don't generally say _thank you_ either," McCoy added. "But I think if Spock can manage it, Sarek certainly has a few things for which to apologize."

"Perhaps true," Sarek said. "I cannot pretend to approve of Spock's choice of career, or all his behavior. But I can concede that my responses have at times been less than estimable. As well as lacking efficaciousness. And for those faults, I concede error."

Spock looked at Sarek, as if trying to work this through. McCoy wrinkled his brow too.

But Amanda was smiling, as if Sarek had come quite far in that. "Can we keep you, Doctor?" Amanda asked. "We would love to have you on Vulcan."

Both Sarek and Spock gave her a glance of wide eyed amazement.

"I'm starting to think you might need to, if none of you can straighten yourselves out," McCoy groused, reaching for his tea.

"I trust that will not be necessary," Sarek muttered. "I find a little of this emotionalism more than entirely sufficient to the cause."

And Spock met his father's eyes, for once almost in accord, and fractionally nodded.

"And for all love, get a decent haircut before tomorrow," McCoy complained to Spock, choosing to ignore Sarek's aside. "Your mother's right. You **do** look like a ragamuffin."

And Spock raised both brows in feigned innocence.

_To be continued..._


	52. Chapter 52

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 52**

The Vulcans, Amanda included, indicated they'd be retiring early, saying tomorrow would be a long, exhausting day.

"Though Council doesn't open until mid-day," Amanda warned them. "So you can sleep in, if you care to." She went off to have a word with T'Rueth.

That left Kirk and McCoy alone together after dinner, at loose ends, dawdling over coffee.

"Heard from Komack?" Kirk muttered, as if reluctant to speak too loudly in this house of keen Vulcan ears.

"No," McCoy said.

"He's going to take it right down to the wire."

"Well, it's a political minefield for him, Jim. I suspect he has a few aides researching the pros and cons of either decision."

Kirk shrugged. "True. He didn't get to be an Admiral by –" He closed his mouth as his friend's communicator signaled.

"McCoy, here," he drawled. "And given I'm on shoreleave, just take two aspirin - Oh." He sat up, raising a brow. "What's up, Lieutenant? I can hear you wheezing even over this damn device. Having trouble with your Triox dose? Uhura," he breathed to Kirk.

"That's part of it," Uhura said, sounding a little breathless. "I think I've made a big mistake."

"Yeah?" McCoy asked. "How's that? Don't tell me you've fallen in love with a Vulcan." He chuckled to himself.

"Not that," Uhura gave either a chuckle or a wheeze. "After I left you, it was too early to check-in to the hotel. So I did some shopping in the city, saw a few of the sights in Shikahr. I didn't absolutely worry about getting back - I thought I had an understanding with the Shikahr Hilton. But I was a few minutes late for my check-in time. And they gave my room away."

"Vulcan punctuality," McCoy commiserated.

"Even in an off-worlder hotel. I still didn't worry - I thought, they can't **all** be booked. But everywhere I've tried after that has told me the same thing - they're full up. Some holiday has brought crowds overflowing into Shikahr. And then I thought, well this is a major Federation member's capital city. Starfleet's got a recruitment center here. They'll offer me a bed for the night. But I went there, to the Federation Center building. And the Starfleet office is the size of a cubby hole. It's not a real office. It's not even open! And," Uhura took another gasping breath, obviously struggling with getting air in, while McCoy, no longer smiling, frowned at listening to her breathing, "I was just told the Federation Center building is going dark in a few minutes. The whole city seems to be shutting down. The lights are going out all over Shikahr. I wouldn't mind - it's not like I haven't been through Starfleet survival training - only I wasn't expecting something like that **today**. And I've got all these bags, and I can't breathe. And this is **Vulcan**, not some wild, uncivilized planet-"

"Whoa, whoa, honey," McCoy said. "Don't worry. We'll come get you."

"The Captain will think I'm an incompetent **fool**," Uhura said.

"Darlin', if I weren't bound by medical ethics," McCoy said, eying Kirk over the communicator, "your kindly family doctor could tell you a tale or two about your Captain's acclimation to this charming planet."

"I don't think so," Kirk warned.

Amanda came out of the kitchen, calling a last minute good night to her staff and took in their alarmed expressions. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Telling Uhura to hold on, McCoy explained and added. "You don't mind, do you?"

"That pretty girl, the one Spock was singing to?" Amanda asked. "I was meaning to invite her here anyway. If we could just manage to go one day without a crisis - "

"Jim and I'll double up," McCoy offered, "and she can have my room."

Amanda shook her head. "If you've noticed, Doctor, one thing this Fortress doesn't lack is rooms. I can have an outworlder suite warmed up from stasis before you get back."

"Back from where?" Spock asked, coming down the stairs.

"Uhura got bumped out of her hotel," McCoy said. "She's spending the night."

"Indeed?" Spock said. "Interesting."

"Hang on, honey," McCoy said to her, flicking his communicater open. "Your cavalry is coming over the hill."

Less than half an hour later, Uhura was sitting at the same table, a glass of iced tea half drained before her - it was her third - as well as an empty plate, shamefacedly rubbing her feet, and retelling her sad tale, while McCoy stood over her with a medical scanner.

"I'm better, Doctor, honestly," Uhura confessed. "That second Triox infusion did the trick. I can catch my breath at least now. And with that I'm starting to feel really foolish." She looked around shamefacedly at her trio of senior officers. "I was so enjoying myself - I hardly ever get to shop, and in a real city, not just a Starbase - that I just let myself go and forgot time and everything else. Honestly, it wasn't until I saw the city lights all start to go dark - a city that size - that I felt uneasy. And then I couldn't breathe and my feet hurt-"

"You poor child," Amanda said, eying the piled up detritus of Uhura's shopping excursion. "You can't mean to say you've been walking around Shikahr all day, your first day on Vulcan, and carrying all that?"

"Well," Uhura said, bemusedly eyeing her parcels with a combination of shame, affection, and avarice. "I didn't start out with all that. I just picked up a few things, here and there."

"A few things?" Kirk said.

"On shore leave, Uhura likes to give the local merchants a field day," McCoy said.

"So long as there's not a tribble in there," Kirk said.

"I am grateful, Lady Amanda, for your taking me in," she said. "I had a hotel room reserved, honestly. I don't understand why they gave it away. I was just a few minutes late. I'm sorry to impose."

"Any other day, it would have been fine to be late, I'll wager," Amanda said. "And it's certainly no imposition. But the opening of Council is a holiday, of sorts. All over Vulcan, but particularly in Shikahr. Tourists come especially to see the opening Council ceremonies. Vulcans come to the city from all over the planet to participate. And in spite of tradition, a certain percentage do prefer to stay in outworlder hotels, because they don't go dark as some of the more traditional establishments do and they have exotic amenities like outworlder food and water showers. Most every clan has a clan hostel in the city, for overflow participants in Council ceremonies. But their comforts tend to be a few millennia out of date because they're not much used except for Council openings. The hotel staff probably had ten takers standing in line for your room when you weren't there. I suspect they succumbed to Vulcan argument."

"I didn't realize it was that much of a holiday," Uhura mused, sipping her tea.

"Vulcans wouldn't call it that, but it is one of the few that Vulcans celebrate. Still, they shouldn't have left you stranded. They were probably overwhelmed. Most of their Vulcan staff desert them for the next day or so, and yet they are at their busiest. But you are safe here. I am glad you thought to call."

"I don't understand this going dark," Kirk said. "Shikahr's generally lit up like a Christmas tree at night. Except for this evening."

"Vulcans traditionally celebrate the adoption of Surak's constructs by going back to ancient clan practices as far as dress, meals, lifestyle for that time. Shikahr being Surak's seat, most of the city voluntarily reverts from sunset the night before Council opening until dawn the day after the ceremony."

"But you don't?" McCoy asked.

Amanda shrugged. "It's not really practical for Sarek to be without communications all that time. Even though real emergencies can technically always get through, what the Federation considers an emergency and what Vulcans do, somewhat differs. We didn't use to bother at all."

"We never did when I was a child," Spock said. "It does seem like an overly archaic practice."

"T'Rueth actually introduced it when she came to us the year you left for Fleet. She was used to it from T'Pau, and didn't know us any better. And I never really tried to change her mind. But we compromise, and only go dark from the ceremony to the next dawn. Actually, Vulcans who don't attend the Council opening in person watch it broadcasted. So there's no set in stone law, but those who can revert entirely for a day or two, often do. And in Shikahr, the city where it all began, it's more or less _di rigueur_."

"There was a group outside of a club, or a restaurant," Uhura said, shuddering slightly. "I was thinking of going in there. It seemed a popular place that would be open, but then everyone rioted, and the peace forcers came. And I hot-footed away from there, worried I'd end up in custody."

"Riots?" Spock said, eyes widening. "In Shikahr?"

"Don't worry about that," Amanda hastily said to Uhura. "You're quite safe here. And I'm sure after your tiring day sightseeing and shopping, you'd like a long hot bath."

"A bath sounds heavenly," Uhura agreed, her eyes shining even more than they had at her packages. "That was the last thing I expected to find on Vulcan."

They were trooping up the stairs to retire when Uhura faltered and then swayed. Kirk and McCoy being loaded down with her packages, Spock caught her up as naturally as an infielder does a baseball, and swung her up in his arms when her knees when out from under her.

"Sorry, Mr. Spock," she said, shaking her head as if to clear it. "I guess the gravity has finally gotten to me, after sitting at table so long. I'm all right," she assured, "You can put me down."

Spock tilted his head, frowning. "I think not. You, Miss Uhura, have a fever."

"No," she said.

"She didn't," McCoy countered. "Are you presuming to diagnose, Mr. Spock?"

Spock flicked a brow, leaning his head lower over her, as if gauging the heat moving in waves off her body. "She does now."

"I don't-" Uhura said and then sneezed. "Oh. I'm sorry!"

"It is of no consequence," Spock said, blinking his eyes.

"Let's get you to bed," McCoy said to Uhura.

An hour later, McCoy came out of Uhura's room, shaking his head.

"Mars Throat?" Kirk asked.

"I'm not sure," McCoy said. "The onset seems a bit extreme, and the fever's jumped a bit higher than I'd expect for Mars Throat. Of course, she did run around all day, among hordes of tourists carrying god knows what, in that heat and gravity, with probably inadequate water and triox." He shook his head gloomily. "You Fleet types have no sense. I'm beginning to think she might do better on a drip, or at least with better facilities than I have here."

"Let's call Mark," Amanda suggested. "If anything odd is making the rounds, he'll know."

"Nice to know kindly family doctors still make house calls on Vulcan," McCoy said.

"They do for me," Amanda said.

Half an hour later, Mark Abrams came out of Uhura's room, having conducted his own exam. "I concur. She's better off in the Terran Medical Center, under managed fluids and an on-site staff."

"Is it that serious?" Kirk asked.

"I suspect she'll be right as rain on Vulcan in a couple of days," Abrams said calmly. "But she's certainly picked something up, a combination of too much doing, too little water, and maybe a bug caught from the whole influx of tourist aliens that populate Shikahr for the Council opening. We'll try to nail down what's causing it when we get her in. It doesn't look too serious, except for her getting so dehydrated and exhausted running around her first day on planet. Anyway," he looked at McCoy. "I'm sure you were planning on watching the spectacle tomorrow."

"I don't have to," McCoy said.

"A shame for you to miss it, with you apparently leaving soon. And you'll be virtually alone here, the Fortress off-line too, and most of Shikahr on holiday mode. More prudent to move her where she'll have hospital facilities and a full staff."

"We don't have to shut down tomorrow," Amanda said. "It's just a custom and one we've never followed terribly consistently."

Abrams shook his head. "I'd rather see her on an I.V. drip tonight. I'm on duty the next day anyway, and I'll call you if anything develops. But it's better to get her settled now. I'll call ahead to arrange a bed, and then we'll take her in, yes?"

After a moment, McCoy reluctantly nodded.

xxx

"How's Uhura?" Kirk asked with an injured tone of McCoy as the physician came in to brunch, followed by Spock, who'd served as McCoy's pilot. "You could have woken me, Bones. I would have flown you."

"Morning, Jim," McCoy said. "Well, Spock here was up getting tea when I came down, so I snagged him for courier duty. Though I'm half sorry about that. We took that awful little jalopy of his, and I think I twisted my back squeezing into it."

"You did not," Spock said calmly. "But you complained about my craft as loudly as if you had."

"Vulcans," McCoy said.

"What about Uhura?" Kirk asked.

"Not much fever this morning. They're keeping her another day, running a few more tests. She's more furious because she's sick on one of her few days of leave than she is anything else."

"You must tell her to come here, when they release her," Amanda said, putting down her teacup. She was barefoot, and in shorts, her hair in a long braided tail, as far from the image of a Vulcan clan leader as one could get. "I don't like to think of her being alone in some hotel after she's been ill. And Spock, while you were out, this came for you."

"I didn't order anything," Spock countered.

"From your Grandmother," Amanda said.

Spock took the box, opening it at the table.

"Wow," McCoy said, at the sight of the gleaming tunic within. "That's some dress uniform."

"I suppose I must wear it," Spock muttered.

"Since your Grandmother specifically sent it, I think you must," Amanda said, eyes widening when she took in the contents.

"I had thought to attend only as an adjunct to Father and you," Spock said in objection. "Very much unnoticed and in the background."

"Well, I gather T'Pau doesn't intend for you to fly under the radar this time. And you certainly won't be, not wearing that. I remember it vaguely from the archives," Amanda said, wrinkling her brow. "That was also Surak's, wasn't it? A very early year."

Spock closed the box. "His ceremonial battle warrior uniform." He shook his head slightly, a human refutation. "There are times when I think Grandmother can be completely childish."

Amanda raised both brows. "Well, for goodness sakes, don't tell **her** that. At least not today. We're trying to avoid a war with this ceremony, not start another five thousand years of conflict."

"I am supremely tempted."

Amanda sighed. "I suspect she just wants to show you off a bit. It could be worse, you know."

"Haven't you said that at times your life was easier on Vulcan when she was shunning you for being a human?" Spock asked, eyeing the box with unVulcan distaste.

"Well, yes," Amanda admitted. "But once she got over that, she really has been very sweet."

"Only you would call her that. Grandmother is many things. None of them sweet."

Sarek stepped into the breakfast room. Like Amanda and Spock, he was wearing casual clothes, a sand colored tunic and pants. No one was going anywhere, or dressing up, until the Council event.

Spock looked at Sarek, drew a careful breath and said, "Good Morning. Father." There was a noticeable pause between his greeting and the title, as if he preferred to forgo it, or use the more ubiquitous _sir_. He looked uncertain doing so. The only time in that last eighteen years he had used that title was when he had been begging Sarek for Jim's life, willing to promise him anything, even filial obedience by Vulcan custom, for Sarek's helping Jim in return.

Sarek blinked at Spock, as if he almost had been diligently overlooking his presence. That was their common habit of the last eighteen years. Neither was finding it so easy to break. When Spock had come home on rare and short leaves, they had practiced a disciplined truce of avoidance, only interacting when necessary and in the most formal of ways. For the most part, they hadn't gotten far past that since Babel. In spite of Vulcan control and much less to risk, it took Sarek a moment to make his decision and reply in kind. "Good Morning. My son."

Spock looked a little pale, as if half regretting being so forward. A son of his age had far more obligations of obedience and duty to a father than those of the mere guest he had been acting as before. But on this Council Day, and after yesterday, he had thought that perhaps it was time for him to forge some new relationship with Sarek. Or try to revive something of the old.

If Sarek had any emotions over the exchange, he covered his by peering into the box. He blinked as if dazzled by the gleaming contents. "T'Pau, I take it."

"She's practicing on poor Spock now," Amanda said. Perceptive as she generally was, she'd missed the guarded acknowledgement between her son and husband.

"It is only one day a year," Sarek said, with rare tolerant commiseration to Spock, perhaps from his own past experience with T'Pau. "After today, everyone, even your Grandmother, will return to logical ways. Fortunately."

Spock had sat down. He'd recovered a little of his color. And with that, his equilibrium and some of his general sense of being forever put upon by a uncomprehending world. "Given a choice between returning from Klingon hands and dressing up as a Vulcan version of _The Little Prince_," Spock said ironically to no one in particular, "I wonder which, with all due logic, I might have chosen had Jim not dragged me out of that cell."

"The Klingons were torturing you," Sarek noted.

"Quite," Spock returned, minimalistically elegant in his refutation of the gift and the parallels drawn. He closed the box with a decidedly unVulcan shove before resignedly picking it up and taking it upstairs.

Amanda chuckled. "T'Pau or the Klingons. I'm not sure which I would choose either."

Sarek flicked a brow.

xxx

"What do you think, Jim," McCoy asked, when Spock came downstairs dressed in his Council best. "The Little Prince?"

"Doctor, I warn you, I am fully combat trained," Spock said darkly, his mood not improved by the splendid tunic. "And this is a day where Vulcans choose whether to follow Surak's peace constructs. That reaffirmation doesn't happen until **later** this afternoon. For the present, I am wearing what amounts to a battle uniform."

"You could never have fit in that, Sarek," Amanda said. She herself was wearing the same dress she had worn to T'Pau's, a gleaming swath of gold metallic cloth that fit her as if it had also been tailored to her, though it had originally been made for Surak's wife. "Not even when you were younger."

"Nor could Spock, I think, until now," Sarek said, eyeing the tunic critically. He too was wearing a gold edged tunic. Fancier than what he had worn to the reception for diplomats on the Enterprise, but more restrained than Spock's. And his hair, rather than being flattened and straightened as best it could be into rigid Vulcan lines, looked as if he had left it in its original curl. "Vulcans five thousand years ago, fraught from battle, were far less well fed. I suspect even Surak found the fit impossible within a year of two of peace. One reason, perhaps, why it still appears virtually new."

"That alone might be considered a suitable incentive to gain weight," Spock grumbled.

"You look very handsome," Amanda said. "And I like the haircut."

Spock had had his hair trimmed. Though it was still sans the regulation pointed sideburns Fleet preferred, and longer than he had worn it on the _Enterprise_ so as to cover the scars on his temples. His hair had always been one of his best features, though very unlike Sarek's crisp curls. Spock's shining cap of ebony silk gleamed with light, glancing gold reflections from his tunic.

"If you don't manage to heal those scars yourself," McCoy said referring to the burns, his sharp eyes missing little, "then you will need to consider having me handle that. Starfleet frowns on battle scars."

"That's a topic for another day," Amanda said, looking out to where Sarek had gone to converse with the guards. "I think it is time to go. Where's Jim?"

"You never do know what time it is, Mother," Spock said patiently. "Without a watch."

"Don't be argumentative. And that's not quite true. I do have your father to ask."

Spock rolled his eyes a bit at this. "It is nearly time," Spock conceded. "But not yet."

Kirk came down the stairs, resplendent in his dress uniform. He'd chosen the apple green version, rather than the gold. It flattered his eyes, and clashed less with Spock's.

"Very handsome," Amanda said. "We'd better go. We don't want to be late."

"It would be remiss of us. But I think that today, unlike the hotel staff for Uhura, Council will actually wait upon our arrival," Spock said, following her.

"Brat," Amanda teased.

When they moved out to join Sarek, Kirk and McCoy's eyes widened.

"Wow," McCoy said. "Where'd the army come from?"

There weren't a few guards as was usual, but dozens. And they were dressed not in their usual uniforms, but in fancy dress. Something like what the guards had worn at Spock's wedding, but in metallic rather than dark shades. They'd begun to ring the Fortress walls. They were armed with traditional Vulcan weapons as well as heavy stun phasers.

"I told you," Amanda said, glancing at them, largely inured to the spectacle after many years of it, "It's like a pageant. And for all their logic, Vulcans love their pageantry."

"That's a lot of weapons for a pageant," Kirk said, trained and practiced eyes on some crates a few guards were manhandling into a transport vehicle. "Those **are** weapons too, aren't they?"

"Just some last minute extras," Amanda said, frowning at them. "Everything necessary should already be in place at Council Keep."

McCoy reflexively patted his hip, where he kept his portable medical kit at ready. "And why are weapons necessary in a supposedly peaceful celebration?" he asked rhetorically.

"Don't worry, Bones," Kirk said. "I don't plan to fight anyone today."

"What exactly is our role, Spock?" McCoy asked.

"Just to watch."

"That didn't go so well the last time," McCoy replied.

Spock flicked a brow. "Fortunately, or unfortunately, you will be far from the action, so to speak, this time. The Great Hall today will be restricted to hereditary Council members. And their guards. And the army of our clan."

"You have an army?" Kirk asked.

"Largely ceremonial now, though some still function as guards, peace forcers, patrol officers, and other modern related occupations. You will have seats in the upper gallery, where you will be able to watch the proceedings."

"But what exactly are these proceedings again?" Kirk asked.

"It has only been five millennia since Surak's peace," Spock explained. "Vulcans are not substantially different, from an evolutionary perspective, since those times when we waged incessant war. What differs is that we now follow Surak's constructs, and the paths of peace and logic, and practice his disciplines. But we do not merely blindly follow our ancestors. Every year, we don battle dress, or the dress of Surak's time, and as my mother explained, adopt some of the daily customs of that age. We then make a personal, deliberate conscious choice to lay down weapons and renew the ancient pledge to forgo war for peace and logic."

"What did modern Vulcans say about your enlistment in Starfleet?" McCoy asked.

"There were certainly those that opposed it, and those that considered it invalid in some respects," Spock admitted. "It did give my father some issues politically, here at home, among members of the Vulcan alliance, and elsewhere in the Federation, allies and opponents alike. Had T'Pau not supported me at home, I doubt I would be here today." Spock shrugged. "I regret that I caused Sarek pain. But not my decision. I think my record, flawed as it may be in places, speaks of its validity."

"I'm glad you don't regret it, Spock," Kirk said. "Even though as far as being here, well, I wish we were both back on the _Enterprise_."

"But we're glad you can come home," McCoy added, with a gimlet-eyed stare for Kirk.

Amanda had gone up to Sarek, carefully holding the long train of her dress off the stone flags of the garden paths, nodding at the extra guards. "That's more than you've posted on Council Day in a long time," she said quietly to him. "We're not going to have a problem with the press, are we?"

Sarek glanced over at his son. "So far no indications point toward that. We are monitoring their chatter-feeds, and there's nothing much that refers to Spock in any particular way. And they've," he nodded fractionally at the Fleet officers, "been out and about some time now, in Shikahr and elsewhere, without attracting undue notice or attention. But after yesterday's incident appearing in the news, and the broadcast of today's Council Opening, it seems like a prudent precaution," he said. "The outworlder press can be volatile, and they do cover the ceremony. And there are more of them than us," he added ironically. "If we need to speak to them, I prefer to have outward signs of our ability to control and disperse them. Forcefields are effective but somewhat intangible aids."

"They wouldn't dare," Amanda said, looking at Spock.

"As everyone keeps restating, he is no longer a child any more. The precautions we once took to safeguard his privacy, and even the leniency of the more legitimate press against invading the privacy of a child, is hardly something any of us can expect for him any longer. I trust Spock's attendance will go as unregarded as he wishes," Sarek said, "But it cannot be guaranteed. And so precautions seem warranted." He looked down at her. "It is time to depart."

She nodded. "Let's get this show on the road," Amanda called to the knot of Starfleet officers.

"The parade on the ground," Kirk muttered.

"The fleet in the air," Spock added.

"Good thing that nobody is asking me to certify this crew as mentally fit **today**," McCoy said, rolling his eyes. And having the last word as usual.

_To be continued..._


	53. Chapter 53

**Home is the Sailor**

**By**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 53**

"Is that it?" McCoy asked, pointing to a complex, notable for the crowds worming toward it. From the aircar's present height and distance they appeared like ants. "And I thought your Grandmother's Palace was big," he added as Spock piloted the flyer into an approach toward Council Keep. Towered and turreted, the Keep rose up out of the sands of Shikahr like the Llangon Mountains, surrounded by its heavy stone fortifications. In modern Vulcan, the Keep housed Council and was hung with the banners of all clans. But on this day, from every rampart hung the lematya banner, the battle emblem of Surak. And every guard wore a lematya shield.

"Fly over it, Spock," Kirk ordered. "Let's get the full aerial view."

Spock obligingly curved into a long arc around the complex, a circumscribed oval, joining a phalanx of other craft flying with the lazy circles of predators in the ochre sky.

"They're fighter wings," Kirk said, peering at the very modern and well armed craft that flanked them briefly. "_Vulcan_ fighters?" One of the pilots glanced briefly at Spock through the double viewscreens, catching his affirmative nod before veering away in a move that had McCoy clutching his stomach with an _is it my train or theirs that's moving_ vertigo.

"True, Vulcans have avoided hostilities on this day for millennia," Spock said. "Since Vulcan has become prominent in Federation affairs, however, outworlders have made threats and created incidents. The increased tourist flow on planet creates difficulty in screening so many. So security must increase. But," Spock added. "Sarek would have received a full intelligence review of credible threats. If any were serious, he would not have allowed my mother to put a foot outside of the Fortress' gates. Regardless of any Council Opening."

"They're not just armed with stun phasers," Kirk said, his practiced eyes analyzing the vehicles with a reminiscent pleasure. "Those are photon delivery tubes under their wings."

"Some small craft have been pulled from Neutral Zone patrol for this detail," Spock agreed. "The larger cruisers from our fleet have no doubt been garrisoned farther out to provide necessary cover."

Kirk frowned in hearing Spock speak so casually of an _our fleet_ that wasn't Starfleet.

"Every craft that can fly and has a certified pilot will be in the air today, from one end of the quadrant to the other," Spock continued, "from Federation space to the Neutral Zone border. And of course, before the ceremonies, Vulcans have not _quite_ reaffirmed their yearly pledge for non-violence. So if there are any hostilities, some may believe they are excused if they retaliate in kind."

"I thought Vulcan was **part** of Federation space," McCoy said.

Spock turned from his controls, both brows raised in the ultimate Vulcan expression of surprise, the equivalent of a human double-take. Then one corner of his mouth quirked slightly before disciplining itself back into Vulcan lines. "Well, you **are** human, Doctor. To Vulcans, it is our territory. We negotiated the Federation clearance to pass when we joined the Federation. Vulcan Space Central patrols it. To humans, of course, we are now part of what is very much **your** Federation. To us, you are **our** guests in Alliance Territory. It is a matter of perspective."

"I don't much care for all this us and them talk," Kirk objected, his voice mild, but firm. "**You** are one of **us**. Vulcan is part of us. Save the **them** talk for our real enemies. Like the ones that captured and tortured you."

"Forgive me, Captain." Spock had apparently reached the distance he felt was appropriate, and began pulling the craft in a sharper arc, circling back. He glanced down at the Keep as they approached it from the other direction. "Federation tourists are certainly here in force. They will have a field day today," he commented.

"Well, there's Vulcans in plenty down there to meet them," McCoy said dryly. A veritable Vulcan army, dressed in its archaic best, was massed on the sandy plain before the Keep. Ancient siege and anti-siege weapons had been lined up on alternate sides of its walls. In one corner, the equivalent of cannon were being fired in a long volley, though all that came out of their massive maws at this time were sparklers, fireworks and sonic booms. Shrill excited screams of the tourists below were audible even up in the air and through the aircar's insulation.

"Are they doing reenactments for the tourists, or is this part of the celebration too?" McCoy asked.

"The drilling has always been part of this day," Spock said. "The fireworks are a new addition to me. Apparently something added to amuse the spectators.

Vulcans on foot, citizens of Shikahr or transients come for the Council Day and staying in the city were being admitted through the central barred gate of the complex and from there into a side entrance of the Keep itself. At two side entrances flanking the central gate, outworlders were having their credentials scrutinized, then being directed to areas with seating and wide viewscreens under sunshades where they could watch all the outdoor reenactments without standing in Vulcan's heavy gravity. The equivalent of a bevy of Cyrano Joneses, human, alien and even some Vulcans were hawking all manner of goods in an impromptu bazaar set up in a plaza outside the Keep walls.

Spock idly flew lower above the entering crowds, giving Kirk and McCoy a better view.

"Do I see what I think I see?" McCoy asked, pointing.

Spock's brow furrowed, and he swerved closer to the lines of tourists.

Kirk could see many of the tourists were wearing t-shirt and smock versions of Vulcan clan shields – lematya, forges and so on. Some carried mock banners - lematya mostly - mimicking the ones that hung from the Keep ramparts and walls.

"That is new," Spock said, this time with a real frown. "It seems rather disrespectful to me. I wonder that the guard don't take them from them and turn those vendors out of the bazaar."

"That would be awfully high handed," McCoy said. "Anyway, even if they could kick out the vendors and confiscate the banners, they can't take the shirts off their backs. Lighten up, Spock. When you go to a baseball game, don't you buy a cap to support your team?"

Spock wrinkled his brow at this.

Some of the tourists wore soppy romance shirts of a stylized Vulcan/human couple, with sayings like "Sarek/Amanda 4ever" and "Amanda, Sarek's Queen". Spock was apparently familiar with this sort of thing. He scanned those with an expression of exasperation. But some were wearing t-shirts that had pictures of a Vulcan on them that looked suspiciously like Spock. When Spock adjusted the pickup on the viewer, he could see some shirts of the shirts with his face on them had the blazon "Team Vulcan", "Team Starfleet", "Vulcan Legend". The worst had the trio of Sarek/Amanda and Spock's face with the motto "Love Child".

"What is that?" Kirk asked, honestly startled.

"Outworlder insanity," Spock growled, and this time, control or no control, his face showed distaste.

Tourists were pointing personal viewers, scanners and recorders at all the arriving vehicles and personages. Some of them scanned through their unshielded aircar view windows. There was a cry of _**Spock!**_ Others in the crowd took it up, and the crowd as a whole surged, turning to the passing flyer. The chant echoed through the thin air even through the car's insulation.

_**"Spock! Spock!"**_

Long range press scanners and recorders focused on the car. Small paparazzi recording bots flew up from the restricted press seats toward the aircar before they were apparently stopped by a Council Keep force shield restricting tourist and press access. But Spock had already veered the aircar up away from the tourist stands before they reached them, leaving their cries and intrusive lenses far below.

_**"Spock! Spock!"**_

"I have seen them do that for my parents," Spock said, sounding shaken. "**Never** for me."

"Well, you've been away, haven't you?" McCoy said, hanging onto his seat as Spock gunned the craft. The sensation in the shielded craft was unchanged. McCoy - no spacer - was reacting to the sight of the ground rapidly speeding away, his forehead beading with sweat. "Before that, I imagine your parents kept you pretty shielded."

"Indeed, I have." Spock shook his head as he noticed McCoy's discomfort. "Forgive me, Doctor if my actions upset your stomach. I was...somewhat taken aback. Tourists and the press can be unpredictable in their behavior. I had forgotten this."

"I'd think Vulcans would be too dignified to pander to tourists," Kirk commented. "Especially if this is an important day." He gestured to the army drilling with their archaic weapons.

"It is a Vulcan event," Spock drew a measured breath, reestablishing his control. He'd flown high in the sky at an oblique angle and now began tacking back to the Keep. "But once tourists began to flock to the ceremonies, the choice was banning all outworlders from the area or somehow managing the crowds. It's impossible to banish them off world or from Shikahr. Banning them from the Keep would leave outworlders with the impression that something untoward was occurring here. When in fact, Vulcans consider the ceremonies today an object lesson from which the entire Federation could benefit. Every Vulcan citizen is expected to reaffirm their choice to follow Surak's constructs on this day. It is no secret that Vulcans would not take it amiss if the rest of Federation did as well."

"A little propaganda, huh?" McCoy asked. "Lure them with fireworks and then hit them with philosophy?""

"Perhaps to some extent," Spock admitted. "We don't sell banners and shirts. At least, not my clan. Obviously mostly outworlder vendors are profiting from that. But visits to Vulcan's historic sites do profit Vulcan. Tourist revenues here have grown substantially in the last two decades. Just the outworlder tariffs and taxes from income related to the Council Opening ceremonies will generate 13 percent of Vulcan's Federation taxes for this standard year. Far outweighing," Spock added with an ironic brow, "the cost of the fireworks and viewing stands."

McCoy shook his head. "You know that?"

Spock looked at McCoy, puzzled, his eyes narrowed in confusion. "I may not have been resident on Vulcan, Doctor, but I have kept as current as was possible."

"Naturally," McCoy told Jim. Kirk shrugged, uninterested in such details.

"We have to pay Vulcan's Federation taxes somehow," Spock said, brow furrowed innocently. "Long ago, Council voted not to charge them against citizen's income. Our populace is still reserving judgment regarding Federation membership. As taxes continue to increase, Council must keep improving their methods to offset the expense. May I remind you, Doctor, Starfleet's budgets –including that of your own sickbay, as well as every item requisitioned for the _Enterprise_ - depend upon the taxes collected from member worlds such as Vulcan."

"But what would your mother do, if Vulcan decided to withdraw from the Federation?" Kirk asked.

"It's more a question of what my father would do," Spock said somberly, slowly spiraling the craft down toward the landing stage.

"Because of their bonding," McCoy said.

"Our clan leaders have a rather long historical precedent for taking at least one female from an opposing warrior clan leader's family as a bride," Spock mused. "Legally he had the right. But those females were adopted into the clan. Until the year I left for Starfleet, T'Pau had refused to accept my mother. My mother's status in such a case would have been somewhat tenuous."

"You were worried about it," McCoy said.

"Perhaps a little, when I was very young. Many Vulcans regarded my mother as little more than captured tribute her first years on Vulcan. At least, so I was taunted in school." He shrugged lightly. "Historical precedent dies hard, even in modern times. Naturally those children heard it first at home."

"How nice for your mother. And for you."

"She always said she found it amusing. But I rather think she didn't." He flicked a brow. "But the humans in the Terran Embassy were little better in their prejudice. And they had no historical precedent as an excuse."

"But what would happen?" McCoy persisted.

"If Vulcan ever left the Federation?" Spock brought the craft down in long slow circles, as much for McCoy's stomach as for the view, ignoring the doctor's more personal inference. "My choice was made for me when I was bound to Council as heir. I mastered all the disciplines, fulfilled all the expected milestones required of me. T'Pau accepted me." He tilted his head slightly, "I was considered Vulcan. And was careful to be only Vulcan. So nothing would likely have happened. To me."

"That was one hell of a reason for you to be super-Vulcan," McCoy growled at this, his eyes wide in surmise.

Spock shrugged. "And as for Mother, as I grew older, I came to understand she was never really in any danger. Father would have razed Council Keep to the ground had Council dared any such vote. Perhaps half of Vulcan as well. With or without an army."

"That doesn't sound very Vulcan," Kirk said.

"A common human misconception regarding Vulcans," Spock said. "Pre Surak's constructs, it would have been precisely Vulcan in nature. Control or not, his fury would not have borne describing." He glanced at his Starfleet colleagues. "Whether he showed it or not."

"But this is **after** Surak."

"Perhaps he would not have **shown** it," Spock said with a slightly resentful irony. "But I rather doubt Council would have risked his wrath regardless. I am sure I am not the only Vulcan who has felt the effects of Sarek's displeasure upon crossing him. One reason, perhaps, that in spite of many concerns about Vulcan remaining in the Federation, no Council vote has ever been other than to maintain our Federation affiliation."

"So he loves her," McCoy pointed out, as satisfied as if he had just won a long standing argument.

"But I just explained-" Spock frowned in confusion at McCoy and then his furrowed brow cleared. "Oh. No. Do not be seduced, Doctor, by popular speculations of romance. Or the fond speculations of tourists. My father is Vulcan. That doesn't mean he is without emotion. Where they are engaged, Vulcan passions can far surpass human emotions in, I think, every measure. But these would not classify as romantic love. Certainly not love in the way that humans describe it."

"**I** think that he loves her," McCoy insisted.

The guards below were waving Spock in. He pulled into a landing approach and gave McCoy a pitying glance. "Negative, Doctor. He does not. And I doubt she so misconstrues him."

"She loves **him**," McCoy pointed out.

"I suppose that is true," Spock conceded, brow furrowing as if he found such human emotion incomprehensible. "**Very** fortunately for him. Given the general instability of such human ties, my father risked his existence, and the continued lineage of our clan in taking an outworlder to wife. T'Pau's chief reason for her refusal to acknowledge my mother was the fickleness of human devotion. She did not trust it." Spock hesitated and confessed. "I'm not sure that I don't share her opinion of the phenomenon called romantic love."

"Oh, I don't know," Kirk objected.

McCoy had set his mouth over this criticism. "You didn't have such great luck with **Vulcan** devotion."

"True, but I believe that was more my fault."

"That's not surprising," McCoy said, shaking his head. "You occasionally have a hard time believing anyone sees any value in you, Spock."

"You may be right," Spock said. "But I was far from Vulcan. And T'Pring had a right to consider her own wishes."

"To get you killed?" McCoy demanded.

"It is the Vulcan way. And statistically," Spock said doggedly. "Divorce is rarer among Vulcans than humans."

"Well, take a look at your divorce customs," McCoy snapped. "If one of the party has to die that's enough to keep anyone married."

"Bones, I think that's enough of this personal talk," Kirk said. "Spock's got a big enough day before him, without that. What about this Keep, Spock? It seems like a very old building."

"It has grown, of course, over the years. As to its precise age, that is unknown. Historians have been arguing that for Millennia," Spock said. "There are no written records. But certainly it's been dated older than the Egyptian Pyramids or the Atlantean Sea Ruins on Earth. Older than the Rigellian Sky Ramparts, or the Orion Lost Strongholds. There's a great deal of evidence linking it, of all the Vulcanian offshoots' ancient sites - Vulcans, Rigellians, Romulans, Orions - to the first civilized stronghold among those peoples, making Vulcan the civilization who then went out to populate the others." He flicked a brow. "If you can call it civilization to build a war fort."

"Well, it is extreme," McCoy said.

"My people do tend to extremes, Doctor," Spock said, seemingly unconscious of the fact that in this Vulcan scene he had classed himself unequivocally Vulcan. "Vulcans turned their extremes to war, before they adopted peace and logic. Orions turned to pleasure. Romulans rejected Surak's constructs and continued their warlike ways. But there are those who say that their inability to have seen the benefits of peace have hampered them developmentally - that they are, in some respects, somewhat adolescent in development. That has prevented them from conquering Vulcan. Though they have tried."

"And the Rigellians?"

"They are least like any of the Vulcan offshoots," Spock conceded. "They turned to trade, and it's clear they had intermingled with other humanoid species. They appear somewhat less driven."

"Peace, war, pleasure. It's pretty clear you green-blooded types go for one or the other of the conundrums of existence."

"Vulcans struggle with their adoption of peace and logic. It is not a natural adaptation. In some respects, fighting over land, water, and women is far more to our inherent tastes," Spock said.

"And Surak did all three, apparently, before he turned to peace. Lucky for him he quit the game when he was winning."

"And managed to get the other clans to quit with him," Spock said. "Vulcans are not unaware of the irony, even as they respect the accomplishment."

"So Surak didn't build this?" Kirk said, oddly disappointed. He was more interested in the Keep and its military purposes than in ethological discussions.

"He added to it, as many have done before him. But it predates Surak by at least as many Millennia as Surak predates modern Vulcan. Originally, it was a home fort. War was our economy at all times. It housed the army, their women, children, animals and so on. Underneath the Keep is an underground lake with millions of gallons of water. The Fortress guards the approach to this oasis through the one really approachable pass in the Llangons. And beneath T'Pau's Palace are the foundations of an old guard post that functioned similarly in the opposite direction. Sadly, Surak demolished that to build the Palace."

"It's a pretty spiffy palace," McCoy countered.

"Yes, but it's a pity he wasn't prescient enough about the future interest in past history to preserve the old fort."

Kirk swallowed a smile. "I'd rather see the old Fort than a palace too. But you sound like you know this place pretty well."

"I was first presented to Council at three," Spock said, with the dry ironic edge to his voice that signaled he hadn't found the experience all that it might be. "I have been in and out of the Keep all my life." He thought for a moment, landing the craft and added. "And of course, it is mine."

"Yours?" Kirk exclaimed, doing a double take.

"It's an ancient clan custom," Spock said. "As I thought I had explained before. Upon being sealed to Council, as a pledge to the duties that will be imposed, the heir inherits Shikahr. Technically, I own the land. The Keep is built on the land and thus mine as well."

"Yours," Kirk said, staring at the massive complex.

"What about Sarek?" McCoy asked.

"Everything else is his. Managing Shikahr, as an adolescent, is considered good practice for the eventual management of all clan lands. But of course, Shikahr isn't **really** mine," Spock added. "Any more than the rest of our clan lands are really Sarek's. The responsibility of stewarding its maintenance is merely one more duty assigned to me." He glanced at them. "Another reason why I am well familiar with accounting for the incomes from tourists and taxes."

"The other 'duties imposed' being all that schooling and discipline you went through?" McCoy asked.

"I suppose you could say that," Spock said. "The heir to Surak is supposed to be a perfect scholar, warrior and statesman." He shrugged a brow. "I certainly got in enough altercations when I was very young, though I doubt that was what was expected in terms of warrior nature. Certainly Sarek did not think so. When I was older, I tried to expunge that history by mastering all I could in school. Certainly I passed in terms of mastering the disciplines then." He frowned slightly. "I am not sure how I would do now."

"It sounds like it was a lot of pressure," McCoy said.

"By human standards, perhaps," Spock said. "I never knew any other way. Until I went to Starfleet."

"And it was better," Kirk said.

"It was interesting. I frankly found it hard to understand," Spock answered, "how I could be allowed so much license."

Kirk and McCoy shared a significant gaze.

"Good thing you didn't let freedom get to your head," McCoy teased with a grin. "And take up with unsavory characters."

"I am sure my father believes that I have," Spock said, with a significant glance to his companions. He depressurized the hatch and they exited onto the portcullis area. The guards lining it acknowledged Spock, but appeared taken aback when Kirk and McCoy appeared behind him. The one in charge said something in challenge to Spock. Whatever Spock calmly replied silenced him.

"Are we in the wrong place?" McCoy asked, eying the barbarically dressed guard with justifiable caution.

"It is rare for outworlders to be in Council Keep," Spock said. "They were simply surprised. This way."

"We aren't causing you problems, are we?" McCoy asked, eying the original speaker over his shoulder. "Those are some big guards. Square shoulders."

"My mother compares them to the card soldiers in Wonderland," Spock said.

"I take it the criteria for being clan leader doesn't entirely depend on brawn," McCoy noting the discrepancy between Spock's slender frame and some of the guards.

Spock's brows rose to his bangs at this slight. "Intelligence is also useful in tactics, Doctor. Statesmanship in brokering and keeping peace. My clan ancestors were by all reports competent in these. Perhaps making up somewhat for lack of **excessive** brawn." He entered the inner Keep.

"Where have you been?" Amanda demanded of Spock, as he came up to her and Sarek.

"We took the scenic route," Spock said.

"Very funny," she muttered, _sotto voce_. "I wondered if you took off or something. We thought you were right behind us."

"I detoured to show our guests the Keep." Spock hesitated. "I must say some of the antics of the tourists were...surprising."

"But you know better than to go near those tourists," Amanda lectured severely, then seemed to hear herself and realize her son was long past that tone. She bit her lip. "I mean, you shouldn't encourage them. Particularly when they are riled up for an event like today. Did they see you?"

Spock hesitated, uncomfortable.

And McCoy frowned. "You're not trying to hide Spock, are you?"

"No, of course not," Amanda denied. "But you don't want to encourage them either. They're dangerous. Especially outworlders and the outworlder press. They're already on edge, looking for some angle of interest, some story to file. It wouldn't take much to set them off. And I thought you wanted to fly under the radar. Unless you don't want your privacy."

"I didn't think," Spock muttered.

"Well, you've been flying under the radar for years in that Starfleet uniform," she said, with a twitch of her lips, reluctant to smile in such restrained company. "But please do try to keep away from them the rest of the day. And that goes double for the outworlder press. There's enough to do in here just with Vulcan contacts. You've been missed. Everyone has been asking after you."

Spock set his jaw at the reminder of this new task and looked around, his expression controlled. One emotion Vulcans didn't entirely repress was curiosity. Spock had been attracting avid glances since he had stepped out of the flyer. McCoy now understood part of the reason for his long, lazy delaying arrival. But looking around himself, while McCoy saw interest and inquisitiveness directed to Spock, he didn't necessarily see criticism. Still, Spock returned fractional greetings with the brusque air of someone who had been the object of curiosity, for good or ill, his whole life. And who didn't much care for it, regardless of how innocuous the scrutiny.

"They always like this?" McCoy muttered to him, in a free moment between greetings, with a special consciousness for Vulcan hearing.

Spock tilted his head in a Vulcan shrug. "Relatively incognito in Starfleet for so long, I had forgotten. Their interest is understandable. I suppose if I should stay on Vulcan long enough, eventually the curious will get their fill. But it is not pleasant to be so scrutinized."

"I think they'd just like to talk to you," McCoy said.

"Probable. After the ceremonies there will be opportunity. Now, however, is not the time."

Sarek detached himself from a group of Vulcans, and approached Spock. Among the gaudy pre-Reform tunics present, Sarek's and Spock's were actually among the more restrained versions. The surreptitious glances directed at Spock abruptly ceased when Sarek joined his side.

A sharp rip of ignition behind them caused Kirk to turn abruptly, to see torches being set on fire. The air smelled of burned metal and oil. The heated Vulcan air, appreciably warmer here in the city than in the mountains, grew warmer still as more Vulcans crowded into the inner Council chamber of the Keep, using it as a staging area for the events to soon take place in the main chamber.

Hundreds of Vulcans in archaic dress, wearing knives and personal body armor, were surrounded by guards with equally lethal looking weaponry. The inner Keep was rapidly being transformed back to a far distant age. Life-size banners, the heralds of each representative clan, were being unfurled and handed out to bearers. The ringing of chimes filled the air as bells, hung on man-sized racks, were taken out of packing cases and shaken loose from their cushioning beds. Around them crates and crates of the weapons McCoy had noticed being sharpened in the Fortress armory, marked with the symbols of various clans, were being unpacked and distributed each to their appropriate groups. Many were lirpas, with wicked cudgels on one side and massive blades on the other. Vulcans took up their ancient clan weapons with no sign of distaste. They hefted them with easy familiarity, testing their chosen weapon's weight and balance, swinging them with practiced motions. Seeing that, Kirk absently rubbed a long extinguished wound on his midsection.

"Yikes," McCoy said. His heart rate picked up involuntarily and he eyed the door they'd just come through. "I think I hear a medical emergency calling me."

"These weapons are for laying down," Amanda said, looking around, her own nostrils flaring minutely as she inhaled the scent of burning oil. "Not hoisting."

"Well, they're hoisting them now," McCoy retorted, tugging at his collar in the close atmosphere. "All this is a bit intimidating for a simple country doctor like me."

"You're not a simple country doctor," Amanda said fondly.

McCoy's eyes bulged and he jumped a little as the whistling schwoop of a razor sharp blade cleaved the air not far behind him.

"Times like these, I **wish** I were a simple country doctor," McCoy said fervently. "One who'd never left Georgia."

"No one is going to cleave you in two, Doctor," Spock said. "You are surrounded by an army of protectors." An ironic half smile curved his mouth. "And even if you were of a hostile force, warriors do not butcher healers."

"Except that **you're** not holding a lirpa in my protection," McCoy noted. "Come to think of it, I'm not sure if that is good or bad."

Spock flicked a brow. "And yet I must have something to lay down." He gestured to an armorer. Perhaps the lirpa held too unpleasant a memory for him as well. He chose a short sword instead, similar to what Sarek was wearing, and fastened it to his belt.

"Seeing you with a weapon somehow doesn't make me feel better," McCoy said.

"Never fear, Doctor," Spock said. "I don't plan to wear it any longer than this ridiculous tunic."

"You look altogether a prehistoric Vulcan," McCoy said. "What do you think, Jim?"

"A beard would help the effect," Kirk commented, thinking of the mirror universe Spock. "Then he'd really look like a pirate. Except that he's still way too skinny to look very threatening."

A murmur and a commotion was heard from the hall outside, preceding T'Pau's entrance. As before, she was carried in a litter, too frail to walk for long distances. She still wore an air of power that almost entirely disguised the necessity of the palanquin.

"A starving Vulcan is almost always more dangerous, Doctor," T'Pau pronounced. "In which case, in pursuit of peace, you should attempt to eat, Spock."

"But then I would be unable to wear your gift, Grandmother," Spock said, inclining his head to her.

"That slight I could bear," she said. She nodded to Sarek, who handed her from her litter, and accepted Amanda's crossed-hands familial embrace with a murmured "Honored daughter."

"So," T'Pau said, looking from Sarek to Amanda to Spock. "A momentous occasion, apart from the historical relevance. The first time we have been together in Council."

"And whose fault is that?" Amanda muttered.

Even old, T'Pau was not deaf. She gave an unVulcan snort. ""I think we must blame your husband."

"Except you have come to approve of my choice," Sarek said, undrawn as always.

"That I approve now doesn't negate the inconvenience of the years I was forced to disapprove," T'Pau countered. "And for entirely logical reasons. The percentages were against you."

"Never count humans out, just because the percentages are against us," Kirk advised. "We often find a way to beat any odds."

"So I have discovered," T'Pau said, with a nod from Kirk to Spock. "And I have not forgotten that."

A gong echoed in the nearby Council Chamber and T'Pau looked to Sarek. "It is time."

The Council members were gathering with their fellow clansmen, up in the established order of precedence. They did a final last minute check, patting their daggers and short swords, tugging down tunics, picking up the heavier weapons. The banner bearers made sure their clan heralds were facing forward and hanging straight. The bell bearers shook their chimes. And the procession began.

"Time for you gentlemen to take your seats," Spock said. "Up that staircase, in the gallery above you will have an excellent view. The guardsman will direct you."

"Take it easy, Spock," McCoy advised, before he and Kirk followed the hulking guard.

Every clan apparently had a seating area in the vaulted ceiling above the Council chamber. It was even hotter up here, but the view was excellent. Kirk and McCoy found they had box seats in an area above an almost Arthurian round or oval table. Between the vaulted ceiling arching overhead and the keenness of Vulcan hearing, probably even such a large table wasn't impractical for Council business. Even in Surak's day and before the advent of amplified acoustics. Now, in keeping with the pre-Reform theme, torches were being lit by a veritable army lining the ancient chamber, an army wearing the lematya herald. At the same time, recording devices were capturing every angle, for transmission to those on Vulcan who could not be present, and to all the Vulcan colonies and member worlds.

"Wow," McCoy said, peering down at the gallery below. "This is some spectacle."

"The pageantry of Vulcan government,' Kirk said, bemused.

"You ever see this before, Jim? Maybe clips in some Federation government class at the Academy?"

"Not when I attended." Kirk's expression was musing and critical. "You know, Bones, I was considered to have a fair mastery of tactics at the Academy. And my record since then speaks for itself. But you know what? Never once – not at the Academy, nor in active Fleet duty, have we ever done a tactical defense plan with Vulcan – and their Alliance - **out** of the Federation. We never ran it even as a war game."

McCoy blinked at that. "Why would we? Vulcan's not only an ally, they're a firm ally. At least militarily. Even if Vulcan left the Federation, if the Romulans went after Vulcan, or Rigel, or any system in the quadrant, Vulcan would still be fighting with us. Not against us. And we with them."

"They'll stand with us so long as they keep laying down arms and stand for peace," Kirk said, with a skeptical wave at the army below. "And we maintain our values with theirs. But the Federation thinks of Vulcans as being one thing. And **only** one thing. Logical pacifists. In fact, Vulcans almost let us believe they are only that one thing. I don't think that's very smart of the Federation. Or my instructors."

"Are you saying they are trying to fool us?"

Kirk shifted. "I think they only put one side of themselves forward. Yet here we have the real Vulcan. The fighter wings in the sky. The weapons filling this building. The warrior ways that they've never completely given up, even though they **choose** peace. Spock was so right describing it, and I never understood him. It is a **veneer** of civilization. One they choose to renew the finish on from year to year. It's not **them**."

McCoy spread his hands. "So long as they renew it. Humans aren't much without our veneer either. You're not suggesting they could be like another Romulus to us?"

"Not really. But I see some things militarily now that I never understood the why of before. That Vulcan made it a condition of their Federation membership that they control this quadrant. Even the Enterprise - a Federation Starship with their "heir" as second in command - has to get permission from Vulcan Space Central to approach the Eridani system. That their treaty specifies they and only they patrol the Vulcan side of the Romulan Neutral zone. That there's no real Fleet presence in this quadrant. That they have their own Fleet - with a significant advantage in warp capability that until now, at least, they haven't actively disclosed with the Federation at large. And why haven't they? Because you don't hand over tactical advantages to tentative allies that you worry might be adversaries, if not enemies, in the future. T'Pau was smart to back Spock going into Fleet. Sarek was wrong. I understand he didn't want his son in what he considers to be the warrior branch of a still indefinite alliance with the Federation. But T'Pau was right in thinking who better than Spock - her half-human relative - to infiltrate and reconnoiter the military branch of the Federation. She made a good tactical move. Wanted to know the inside deal militarily even as Sarek gave her the diplomatic one. She was just a shade more callous, and thinking long term. Sarek just didn't want his kid - or any Vulcan kid - in that mix. Because Fleet takes youngsters, and on Vulcan, we've discovered that someone that age is still considered too young to be a warrior." He gestured to the guards lining the Keep walls. "Look at them all. They're like Sarek. Husky. Powerful. But all the young Vulcans we've seen look lanky and unfinished. Like Spock."

"There was the _Intrepid_."

Kirk nodded. "Yeah. A Vulcan ship. A treaty concession. They paid for it and crewed it. Not quite the same thing as going to the Academy and coming up through the ranks."

"There are more Vulcans in Fleet now."

"They don't need him there as much anymore, true. It's been nearly twenty years. But that doesn't exactly make me happy. Because I need him."

"Well, the way you were talking," McCoy said, settling back with a frown. "It almost sounds as if you've become disenchanted with things Vulcan."

Kirk shook his head. "I just think I had a naive view of them. Maybe the view they want the Federation to see. Even though Spock has tried to tell me differently. Often as a matter of fact. I just never seem to have heard him. Seeing is believing though."

"At times, Spock prates the party line too. Half the time he says Vulcans control their emotions. Half the time he says they don't have them at all."

"Maybe the ones that are really good at that control, don't," Kirk said.

"Well, I haven't seen any Vulcans that meet that criteria," McCoy said. "Whenever I scratch away at one, I find their veneer of civilization runs pretty thin. Even Sarek flung that Tellurite against the wall at the Babel diplomatic reception."

"I think half the problem, Bones," Kirk said, settling back, waving an arm at the panoply enacting below, "is that humans prefer to see what they want to see, and believe what they prefer to believe. And we take that logical, non-emotional philosophy Vulcans give us, and use it to dismiss them. To lull ourselves into complacency that they are not and can't be rivals. That they are fine allies, but we pity them a little. Not being warriors, we discount them. From a military perspective, almost disdain them. Because they are not professed fighters. Not quite the thing. Not our sort of people."

"Some people do that, Jim."

"I was one of those people, Bones," Kirk said. "I valued Spock." He bit his lip, making a face. "Still, I always took Vulcan non-violence as being nice in theory, but sort of… lame."

"I never thought Vulcan non-emotion was lame," McCoy said, eying the ceremony below. "Just wrong."

"I guess it makes a bit of difference," Kirk said, "when you come to realize how very ready they are to fight, if it comes to that. Almost eager for the necessity. It just takes a **lot** to make it necessary."

"Maybe the veneer gets thin after a year of wear, and the real Vulcan starts to show through. And so they have to trowel it on again."

"I think you might be right," Kirk said.

As each clan entered the chamber, their heralds preceded them, calling out their clan name to a furious shaking of bells. Their clan leaders - Council leaders now - entered behind, their weapons at ready, the gong sounding as if to signal the start of combat. Surak's army lining the walls- and it was an army - presented their weapons at ready to each new clan, and the clan entering showed theirs. It was a show of force before the equivalent of a treaty signing. Not a concession of the conquered.

The reactions of the viewing public was very different. When the herald was something familiar, the cheers of the crowd could be heard faintly even through the stone walls. The Vulcans inside the Keep, in similar box seats to their own, watched with grave attentiveness at odds with the excited cries of the outworlders, who seemed to regard the ceremony, the reenactments and mock battles as a combination parade and festival.

"Yeah to the sehlat!" Kirk heard clearly as that banner came through from the inner Keep. "The sehlat! The saber bear!"

"It is almost like the parade before the Palio," Kirk said, half smiling.

"The what?"

"A medieval relic still practiced in Italy. A horse race, actually, but before the race, they parade with their banners and representatives before the crowd."

"Well, I don't think they're re-enacting a horse race out there," McCoy said as a dull boom thudded through the Keep walls. "Though it sounds like some sort of battle is going on."

"According to Spock's Council friends," Kirk said. "No clan ever manage to take Shikahr in battle, so I doubt those siege weapons were ever used here. I think that part of the outside festivities is just for the tourists."

"The dragon! The snake!" the crowd cheered from outside.

The crowd might be cheerful and boisterous outside. Inside the Keep, the clan army stood tensely, armed to the teeth. The representatives from the opposing plans entered equally stiffly. They stalked with pride behind their clan banners, their weapons at ready in their hands, more slung across shoulders and fastened to belts. If this were a replay of the first meeting of the Council, of the first gathering of the once warring clans before the peace was first declared, they had clearly not left their warlike ways behind them for very long and were deeply suspicious. It was perhaps marginally fair; given the number of outlander clans, their bearers, heirs and guards might in toto come somewhat close to the numbers of Surak's clan army lining the walls. But the army and the weapons outside made it unlikely that if a slaughter were precipitated, no belligerent would be able to fight their way out of the Keep alive. The feeling of near hostility simmered in the air. But as each set of clan representatives entered, one from each clan detached himself to stand behind a chair at the huge table.

"They look like Romulans," McCoy said to Kirk. Though he'd meant to pitch his voice for Kirk's ears alone, and the baffles in the boxes had acoustics meant for Vulcan ears, he'd had to raise his voice over a noisy bombardment outside. An ancient Vulcan in a nearby box, hearing him, turned and answered.

"We are far worse than Romulans, Gentle Sir," he said, his Standard fluent but archaically accented. "Why do you think Vulcan rules the Alliance, and have kept the Romulans behind the Neutral zone for millennia? We have had no conqueror. Save Surak. And we are not entirely enthralled with him," he said with an ironic brow, "though we acknowledge his wisdom and leadership."

Kirk bit his lip on a smile.

As if on cue, the army straightened and shifted their weapons. The bell bearers rang their bells furiously. The gong chimed and the lematya banners appeared.

"The tiger!" the crowd outside cheered. "The lion!" The lematya! The cats!"

Sarek and Amanda entered, ceremonial guards shadowing them. They separated as they approached the table so that each circled one side of it, indicating acceptance of all within. The clan leaders bowed their heads as they passed. A sign of respect originally - or perhaps because it made it harder to put a spear in their backs of those they were honoring.

Outside the crowd was cheering, some for Sarek, and some, oddly enough, calling Amanda's name. Both took a position behind the far end of the table. Spock entered, his own guards behind, shoulders straight and head proud. He didn't look at anyone as he followed Sarek's steps, and stood between and just behind his parents. The crowd outside went wild, calling his name, in simple uncomplicated exuberance for the event. And then with another fanfare from the bell bearers, T'Pau entered with her own attendants and stood before Spock creating a phalanx of power.

"T'Pau! T'Pau!" the crowd roared.

Sarek drew a breath as if to speak, but T'Pau put out a hand and said something, in which the only word that the Starfleet officers could recognize was Spock.

"This thing's not working," McCoy said, poking at the palm sized universal translator he'd brought. "I'm getting maybe two words in five."

Their near neighbor gave a little sigh. "This ceremony is conducted in Vulcanir, a language not in common speak. There is no universal translator template."

"What's she sayin'?" McCoy asked.

"T'Pau decrees that in view of his return to Council after a long absence, she wishes Spock to speak the words opening Council rather than Sarek, as is traditional."

"Is that good or bad?" McCoy asked.

The Vulcan tilted his head fractionally. "It could be a sign of favor. Or a test. Or simply because so much interest has been raised about Spock, it is a chance for him to show himself."

"She might have asked him if he wanted that," McCoy grumbled.

The Vulcan raised a brow. "T'Pau does not **ask**."

On the floor below, Spock was glancing at Sarek, clearly reluctant to usurp his place without his permission. Sarek seemed equally reluctant to hand it over. The elder Vulcan was staring down T'Pau. If looks could kill, the old lady would have blown into such pieces she would definitely need her litter to get home. But she was refusing to meet his gaze. Perhaps she'd chosen this moment because Sarek would have no private opportunity to refuse or argue her into his will.

Around the room, Vulcans were holding their breath, curious and excited at this turn in the normally traditional ceremony.

Sarek finally glanced at his son, reluctant to make a scene, but unwilling to put Spock, in his fragile state, on the spot in front of all of Vulcan. Spock gave the barest inclination of agreement, lowering his eyelashes for a moment. Sarek nodded fractionally in return and then he gave way to Spock, again with a look to T'Pau that promised retribution.

One thing about Spock, as much as he preferred staying out of the limelight, he hardened with adversity. As he stepped forward, he eyed the assembled Council and clan leaders with a look that if he were facing McCoy on the Enterprise, in any of their usual circumstances, would have greatly emboldened the Doctor to take him down a peg or two.

"Spock! Spock!" the crowd cheered.

He stared at the Council members not quite one by one, but group by group, as if he were memorizing their faces. The pause lengthened to a point that would have been uncomfortable for a human. And McCoy became puzzled, then worried.

"Jim?" he muttered to him.

"Wait," Kirk said, an edge to his voice.

Beside them, their Vulcan neighbor, who at risen to return to his own box, straightened disapprovingly, then gave a sharp, almost shocked gasp. He abruptly sank down as if he was too overcome to stand. Around the chamber and galleries all the viewers seem to sigh in an indrawn breath.

"Do you see what Spock's doing?" Kirk asked McCoy softly.

There was, in fact, nothing to see. But it was almost as if the air in the chamber developed a texture. A leashed texture. Group by group the Vulcans there met Spock's eyes. And lowered their heads.

"Like what he did on Omega IV," Kirk said in a prison whisper to McCoy's ear. "Remember? When he had the girl work his communicator by suggestion. Or when he overcame the guard on Eminiar VII."

"That stuff gives me the willies," McCoy said shuddering slightly.

"He doesn't do it often," Kirk said, almost as if in excuse.

In a moment, whatever Spock had done, was complete. The Council Chamber, delegates and guards, seemed if not under his control, then at least one with him. Even the outside crowd was silent, hushed as if perceiving something of what was going on. Spock stood a moment more, surveying the hall. His shoulders rose and fell as if he'd just done something strenuous. And then he spoke.

McCoy poked the Vulcan next to him, who seemed enthralled by the scene. "What's he saying? Hey!"

The Vulcan took a breath as if woken from a dream. "It is remarkable."

"What's he saying?"

"Nothing unusual. He's merely repeating the ancient words of Surak when he convened the first Council. He is calling them to lay down their weapons and swear to peace. That's traditional. But what he did before - that is a legend from Surak's day. I had heard rumors that Spock might possess these ancient skills, the ability to induce warriors from across a field to do his will. I had not thought to see it demonstrated."

Group by group the clan leaders were approaching the dais where Spock stood. They presented their arms to Spock. Then kneeling, they vowed to lay down their weapons, swearing fealty to Surak's precepts, and to be bound by logic and the Council to settle all disputes. They laid their armaments down and had them taken up by the waiting guardsman of Spock's clan. Spock then extended his hand to their temples, exchanging a brief mind touch that conveyed sincerity. But he barely brushed fingers. As the lines moved on, he didn't touch temples at all, preferring to make the contact without touch.

From Spock, the clan leaders moved to Amanda, then Sarek and then T'Pau, reciting the same pledge. After they finished pledging, they returned, sans their relinquished weapon to stand again behind a seat at the Council table.

But even for Vulcans, their expression toward Spock told it all. What he had done had transformed the usual staid ceremony, stunned and shocked them, and left them in awe.

"I'm not sure how good this'll be for Spock," McCoy muttered to Jim.

"What, he's fabulous," Kirk said.

"I mean all the mind contacts with his battered shields."

"Well, Sarek said it was a brutal day for a telepath," Kirk answered.

"If I'd known T'Pau intended this, I'd have given her a piece of **my** mind," McCoy avowed.

Kirk grinned. "You would too. Don't worry, Bones. I don't think Sarek will let it go on longer than he thinks Spock can handle it. He's keeping a sharp eye on him."

Spock was pale, but he seemed to be pacing himself and the line of Councilors waiting their turn was dwindling.

"A young Surak," the Vulcan beside them murmured, the translator rendering his comment.

"It doesn't matter that his mother is human?" McCoy asked with professional curiosity.

The Vulcan gave him a disdainful look. "The lady Amanda is of our clan now. And tribute wives are far from unheard of in that line. Sarek obviously chose well. And as for Spock, if he masters the disciplines and bears the gifts of Surak, that is all that matters. He is Vulcan."

"I suppose T'Pau set this up to prove to everyone Spock hasn't lost his touch in his sojourn in Starfleet. Or whatever," McCoy muttered to Kirk. "But it is crazy how all these Vulcans tend to discount genetics."

"Think he can take the rest of them?" Kirk gestured with his chin to the remaining Vulcans.

"He looks a little paler. But he's stubborn enough to make it through," McCoy said. "It'll be afterward he'll crash. If he crashes."

When the last Vulcan had laid down his weapon to him, Spock turned and knelt to Sarek. He laid aside his sword and made the same claim, and offered up the weapons of the army, and himself going forward, to Sarek's rule of peace by Council. His eyes when he said the ancient words, had a sheeted look to them. And they found Kirk's briefly when he rose from Sarek's feet as if in apology. When he repeated the pledge to T'Pau, he bowed his head to her, not meeting her eyes as he recited the words.

The translator had slipped and slid through a lot of this, but was managing more than half the words now.

"I think he's not too happy with Grandma right now," McCoy said perceptively.

She touched his cheek briefly as she drew her fingers from his temples. Then Spock rose to take a step behind Sarek, his usual station-keeping place with his Captain.

Amanda went through the same ritual, laying down a slim dagger McCoy hadn't even been aware she had been wearing, hidden as it was so well in the folds of her dress. Sarek knelt to T'Pau and pledged to rule Council with all logic, and to yield to her as Matriarch of all Clans. His voice sounded a little terse - clearly he was not pleased with T'Pau either. And then T'Pau took a few steps forward and spoke briefly, looking from Spock to Sarek. The translator skidded badly here.

"She is proclaiming that all Vulcan has reaffirmed the Vulcan way," their interpreter said. "And that Sarek will rule Council with Spock as his heir."

Sarek stepped forward then toward the head of the table, with an air very much business as usual, his shoulders now relaxed from their former military mean, in spite of the fancy tunic and the archaic accoutrements of armies, piles of weapons, and smoking torches. The Councilors seated themselves. Spock stayed in place, hands behind his back, head down, the authority he'd manifested as warrior now yielding to Sarek's statesmanship.

Sarek declared that the Council was reconvened for another year, that it and logic alone would rule over Vulcans and Vulcan interests for the next year, wholly untainted by passion. And then he set the date for the first working session.

The solders unbraced, from holding their weapons at ready to standing them down.

And with that it was over.

The recording lights winked out. Outside the crowd clapped and cheered. There was a subdued murmur of conversation in the Council chamber as the Vulcans there relaxed from their formal postures, turned to their neighbors or rose.

Below, Spock lifted his head somewhat from his lowered gaze and his eyes found Kirk and McCoy.

"Can we go down there?" McCoy asked.

"You?" their interpreter, who was moving to leave asked. "Humans? On the Chamber floor?"

"Bones, I'm not asking," Kirk countered, and as so many times in their history together, McCoy had to either follow him or be left behind.

On the floor below, the babble of conversation was significant cover for Sarek to hold a private conversation.

"Was that necessary?" Sarek asked T'Pau.

"I deemed it prudent," T'Pau said. "To silence once and for all any questions. Though I did not expect Spock to answer them so thoroughly."

"Yes, I'm not quite sure what you did, darling," Amanda said. "But apparently it was beautifully done."

"You had better sit down," Sarek said to Spock, so subtly no one outside of their party would even discern he was speaking. "Before you faint."

"And here they come," Amanda said, as Council members began to make their way toward them. "Sure you don't want us to make some excuse to get you out of here?"

"I am well enough," Spock said.

"You look a little pale to me," Amanda said, before turning to deflect the first greeter.

When Kirk and McCoy reached the Council chamber, they were at the wrong end of the huge room, with a horde of Council members, soldiers and workman in the way.

"I can't even see them," McCoy said, pausing to let a laconic Vulcan trundle a large crate past them. Guardsmen were putting out the smoking torches. Workmen were carefully wrapping the ancient weapons in oiled cloths, and packing them away. Councilors were removing personal weapons and armor with an air of relief, with their aides taking it away. Others didn't bother, seeming oblivious to any discomfort from the heavy accessories in spite of the heat and closeness of the room.

"He's down there, somewhere," Kirk said, pointing.

Their Starfleet uniforms opened a path through the crowd. The Vulcans' gazes roved past McCoy but latched onto Kirk with curious fascination. A doctor was after all, just another healer, even if he had cured their legendary clan leader. But a warrior was always of interest. Even on Vulcan, perhaps especially on Vulcan, because of Spock, Kirk's recent exploits were the stuff of legend.

"Not so fast, Jim," McCoy urged, faltering, one hand gripping a chair. "It's damn hot and close in here."

Kirk turned back with concern to McCoy. "You okay? Sit down for a minute."

"I'll be all right," McCoy said.

Kirk pushed him into someone's vacated Council seat, regardless.

"I agree with Amanda that the climate at the Fortress has a lot to be desired," McCoy said. His face had gone red, and he was panting.

"Here," Kirk reached for a glass of water from a tray a liveried Vulcan was carrying. The Vulcan's eyebrows rose at the sight of the humans, but he paused obediently for Kirk to snag the refreshments.

"This is just water, right?" Kirk thought to ask.

"Water is the traditional drink offered among Vulcans on this day. It cements the establishment of peaceful coexistence between former enemies," the guardsman said politely in clear unaccented Federation Standard at odds with his archaic uniform.

"Glad somebody speaks English around here," McCoy said above the babble of Vulcan tongues. Kirk took another glass and drained half of it, then wet a handkerchief with the rest and handed it to McCoy to let him cool his brow. "I don't want you to faint on me, Bones," he said.

"I'm fine," McCoy said, draining the glass. "Let's go."

But before McCoy could haul himself back to his feet, a group of Vulcans plopped into seats around them.

"I wouldn't try to get up there yet," a vaguely familiar face said to him. "They'll hold him hostage a while longer."

Kirk ignored the warning from another anonymous Vulcan. "Thanks but –"

"Hello, Sanjean," McCoy said.

Kirk turned and, eyes narrowed, recategorized the standard Vulcan features until they coalesced into a familiar face.

"No one's holding Spock hostage if I can help it." Kirk said, with deceptive mildness.

"But can you help it?" Another Vulcan said.

"Try me, Silanjar," Kirk suggested, with a half-smile, that the Vulcan registered with slightly widened eyes at the audacity of it in the Council Chamber.

"Ah, but it isn't us," Sanjean said. "It's the clan hierarchy who has him now."

"The T-bloods."

"He will never escape."

"He never had a chance to anyway, Sanjean."

"He can hardly escape when he's one of them."

"Ah, but there was Starfleet."

"But that was never meant to last, was it? The _xhanzrei_ have him now."

"The clan hierarchy. What you humans call the _nose-bleed niche_," Sanjean translated. "They all tend to share a similar blood type."

"Stop showing off your mastery of human idiom, Sanjean," a tall, lantern-jawed Vulcan, almost big enough to be a guard, complained. "It's nearly as tiresome as this repetitive ceremony."

"It wasn't repetitive this time, Sumar," Silanjar said. "It was fascinating. I never thought to see that skill demonstrated. Not in this age."

"I've come to never be surprised by Spock," Sumar said. "If he unfastened himself from the back and Surak himself stepped out of his empty flapping skin, I suspect I would still be unsurprised. After all," he drawled, "Why just wear his tunic?"

"You went to school with Spock, didn't you?" Sanjean asked. "Briefly."

"Not really. Oh, when he was too young for prestigious Mrisntis and had passed all the levels offered at the illustrious Xzauran, he popped in and out of Kalatar for a couple of short appearances whenever our Clan Leader had to go off-planet. Rather like a litka in a drain tube. My school apparently took all sorts. Even half-breed throwbacks."

Kirk's had been craning his head to see through the crowd, while McCoy rested. He'd not been paying full attention to the group, but at this he turned so swiftly that Sanjean hastily interposed.

"That was exceptionally rude, Sumar."

"But true in all its essentials."

"They took you," Silanjar noted. "Grandfathered in, no doubt. Not for your academics, I'll wager."

"I belonged. He didn't. Oh, I know the clan heir is expected to be the perfect Vulcan. But he really was a dreadful little swot. Study, study, drill, drill. Extra tutors. Councilors coming to give him special instruction in this and that. As if his life depended on it. He was already so far ahead of his peers it could hardly have been necessary. And within a few months he was off to Mrisntis where they are so rare all they speak is Vulcanir."

"How old was he?" McCoy asked curiously, coming back to life and putting a hand on Kirk's arm to restrain him.

Sumar scanned and dismissed McCoy. "Eight, nine."

"Maybe it did," McCoy said. "Come on, Jim. Let's go find Spock."

"In point of fact, Sumar, you sound jealous," Silanjar said. "You had difficulty maintaining status at Kalatar didn't you? You were behind. And there was Spock, years younger and four years ahead. And then he flew off as soon he reached Mrisntis' minimum age requirement, years before it is traditional. And **really** left you – and everyone else - behind."

"Academia is not my interest."

"And **then** he became a warrior."

"In a Federation Fleet."

"There's nothing really wrong with the Federation," Sanjean said. "Or their Fleets. They're our allies."

"They're emotional outworlders," Sumar said coldly.

"You're descending into emotions yourself, Sumar."

"But today is the day for passions, is it not?"

"For setting them aside," Sanjean said.

"Well, one has to acknowledge them before setting them aside," Sumar said. "I acknowledge never caring for Spock. Or the rest of his supercilious T-blooded clan."

"You felt Spock's influence, and his mind," Silanjar said. "With the rest of us. You can't deny it."

"You don't deserve him," Kirk said. "And he," Kirk swept the group with his gaze, "certainly never deserved you. Any of you."

He turned and left the Vulcans gaping.

"I commend your patience. And tact," McCoy said, as he hurried after. "That you didn't start a brawl with that Sumar type."

"Only because I don't want to embarrass Spock," Kirk muttered. "And believe it or not, I have some care for the image of the Federation. And Starfleet. If one of their representatives killed a Vulcan Councilor on the day all Vulcans re-embrace peace, it would reflect badly on both."

"I can see that it might," McCoy said dryly.

"But it **was** a struggle," Kirk said flatly.

They wound through the crowd, to where Sarek, Amanda, Spock and T'Pau still stood, surrounded by knots of people. The biggest knot was around Spock and Sarek. Even though every councilor in the room had exchanged a mind touch with Spock, it appeared at least a quarter of them were trying to also exchange words with him. Spock had the severely neutral expression on his face he used when he was being super Vulcan. Next to him, Sarek looked grim, not pleased to have Spock under the very siege he had feared.

"Perhaps one knows one's lifespan is full when the child becomes more celebrated than the elder," T'Pau said ironically to someone at her side, with a ring that carried to where Kirk and McCoy stood looking at the knot of people clustered around Spock.

They turned politely to T'Pau, who had Amanda also with her.

"Was it necessary to do that to Spock?" McCoy asked T'Pau, with his characteristic bluntness.

"There have been too many whisperings about Spock in his absence," the Matriarch proclaimed, her eyes gleaming with her own trademark archness. "I deemed it necessary."

"You couldn't give him time to recover?"

T'Pau blinked at that, at once seeming older and more frail. "Time is fleeting, McCoy. I had to know that I had an heir. And so did all Vulcan."

"Let me call for your litter," Amanda urged. "Or you should sit down."

"She seeks to be rid of me," T'Pau said.

"Oh, Mother," Amanda said, and then, uncaring of the Vulcans in the room, kissed the Matriarch's aged cheek. "You are impossible."

"I can imagine this solicitousness would be otherwise," T'Pau said, "had thy child not passed this test."

"I don't forgive you for that," Amanda said. "Not really. But he did seem to handle it just fine."

"More than that," an aged Vulcan with T'Pau said to Amanda. "He was exceptional. No more than I expected of Spock, but like T'Pau, I am grateful to have lived long enough to see such a feat."

"I'm not telepath enough to really understand what he did, Sofet," Amanda said.

"Suffice to say, no one will be arguing if Spock is Vulcan."

"A neat side effect of outworlder outcrossing," T'Pau conceded. "When the Vulcan genes are exceptionally dominant, and the outcross genetics are right, what one gets is a supreme throwback to all the ancient gifts. It is, of course, the reason why the clan leader occasionally takes an outworlder to wife, to renew the bloodline."

"I don't think that was Sarek's reason for marrying me," Amanda argued. "A marriage, I might remind you, that you **opposed** for many years."

"Thy know my reasons for that."

"And I do think that Spock has **something** of me in him," Amanda said with an aggrieved air. "He's my child too."

"A propensity for insolent arguments, surely," T'Pau agreed. "Call my litter, child. I have not the strength to deal with them further today."

Amanda lifted her head a little and nodded to a nearby guard, who disappeared on that errand.

"Now go and bring thy child to me," T'Pau said to Amanda.

Amanda didn't go over to Sarek, or tap him on the shoulder. She looked at him, and after a moment, he turned a little from his conversation and glanced at her. Amanda tilted her head slightly to T'Pau, and Sarek made excuses to the knot of people surrounding him and Spock and gathered his son with a similar glance.

"Perhaps Spock does get something of his gifts from his mother," T'Pau said.

"I'm no telepath," Amanda said.

"More something of an empath," the Matriarch contended.

"I think Sarek and Spock would both contest that there are times when I'm certainly not that," Amanda said. "I'm just human. But when you live in a telepathic society for years - well, we humans are nothing less than very adaptable."

Sarek came up to them, Spock half a step behind. "You want something of me?" he said to T'Pau. Restrained as his manner was, his stiff shoulders and narrowed eyes told well enough that in his own way, he was furious with his mother.

T'Pau said something untranslatable to Sarek, then added. "The boy survived, Sarek. So did thee."

Sarek said something untranslatable back, and Spock winced and took a step back as if their very contention was painful to him.

"Can we not fight in front of the kids?" McCoy asked, striving for a little humor in what looked, based on the darkening brows of both elder Vulcans, like a battle worthy of the chamber and all its weapons, renewed peace aside. "Very bad form for parents. Or grandparents for that matter."

T'Pau looked at McCoy and flicked a brow. "Correct, Doctor. Logical." She turned to her grandson. "Spock, I must depart, for these Council days take their toll on those skilled with psi," she gave her son an immutable glare, "but before my leavetaking, I wish to commend thee on thy skill. An exceptional demonstration."

Spock bowed his head. "I am honored, Grandmother."

"You should depart too," she told him. "You have done more than enough. And there will be many Council years ahead to talk with these." She gave an imperious look to the waiting Councilors as if they were disreputable rabble. They took her hint to bow and fade away.

"Yes, Grandmother."

"I should be wary," she said to him. "Thee are never so tractable than when thee are plotting something. But I am well pleased." She leaned forward, and lightly, kissed his cheek. "There, a gesture I have learned from your mother." She frowned. "Thee feel a little warm, child."

"You feel the warmth of the Chamber, Grandmother," Spock answered.

"It's certainly hot as blazes in here," McCoy agreed, tugging at his collar. Even though the guards were putting out the torches, the room was stifling and his face was wet with perspiration. Even Amanda, acclimated as she was, pushed her heavy fall of hair off the nape of her neck, causing Sarek to glance at her.

"I think it is time to depart," he claimed.

T'Pau's litter arrived and Sarek handed her into it. Those Council members remaining bent a knee as T'Pau went by. And they stayed down as Sarek and Amanda followed in its wake, trailed by Spock, Kirk and McCoy.

"_Xhanzrei_," the Vulcans remaining murmured, almost reverently.

"Never thought I was serving with royalty," McCoy commented, a little overwhelmed for once, and striving for his usual teasing jibe.

"I guess you were," Kirk said, since Spock didn't respond. "You okay, Spock?"

Spock nodded. It struck McCoy how very human a gesture it was in this very Vulcan place.

"Too tired to talk, huh?" McCoy commiserated.

Spock didn't answer. Jim moved in closer to Spock, station keeping at his shoulder for a change, and Spock's shoulders dropped a fraction, testament to the relief he took in his friend and Captain's formidable shields.

McCoy paused just a moment before leaving to take one final look back at the Council Chamber. He suspected he'd never be here again. Certainly not at such a historic event. He drew the superheated air into his lungs, redolent of Vulcan incense and bodies, accented by the sooty tang of the extinguished torches and the smell of metal filings and machined oil. The vaulted chamber, hung with weapons and tapestries was a monument to history. It all seemed grander than one poor country doctor from Georgia had a right to know. But then he saw a familiar form, a familiar motion, and wondered at the déjà vu impression. He realized it was his own familiar armorer, who'd he'd encountered before in the Fortress. Laconic as before, he was helping to pack the relinquished weapons, now longer needed, into crates. The Vulcan seemed to sense he was being watched this time. He looked up, met McCoy's eyes and nodded before turning back, once more to mothball the warrior's weapons into nothing more than iconic symbols.

McCoy tried not to think it was some sort of omen. For him or Spock.

Stepping into the outer hall, McCoy had thought the crowd outside would have largely departed, since the ceremony was over. He had not even heard the percussions from the tourist activities since Spock had done his melding feat. But he could hear something now, a subdued roar, the combined echo of thousands of voices.

A knot of still heavily armored guards stopped Sarek to talk to him. Sarek listened gravely and came back to talk to the Starfleet officers. Spock's guards came behind to flank him.

"What's going on?" Kirk asked with a command rasp to his voice, feeling the heightened tension.

"The crowds have become unwieldy, in response to Spock's..." Sarek paused over whatever word he'd been choosing, and substituted, "appearance. The guard have contained them. They are largely Vulcan. But there is an appreciable percentage of outworlders in the crowd, whose control cannot be anticipated. Your aircar will be just outside the portcullis. A guardsman can pilot-"

"I'll fly it," Kirk said, with a glance to Spock's face, showing his weariness now that they were essentially alone.

"Very well," Sarek said. "But when it comes time to leave, try to waste no time in entering and departing."

There was a roar outside, and the guards murmured something to Sarek.

"T'Pau has departed safely," Sarek said, with an edge to his voice, clearly still attributing some of this commotion to her machinations.

"It's not Grandmother's fault," Spock said to Sarek.

"She clearly has had something to do with this," Sarek said to him. "And I would hope in future, that you attempt to give the same level of attendance to my directives as you do to hers."

"I didn't wish for this attention either," Spock countered, flaring a bit at Sarek's terse tone. "I was merely doing what I had been trained to do, to fulfill an inherited role. Not entirely to my choice."

"T'Pau has long been out of society," Sarek said. "It is well for you to remember that Vulcans can be passionate. Particularly on a day such as today. She - and you - have stirred something in them they may not be easily able to put aside. With that, can come less positive attentions." He glanced from Spock to Kirk. "Be careful," he warned. "And quick."

"Sarek," Amanda said. "The guard is saying the crowd is getting unruly. They want us to go."

Sarek nodded. He didn't bother to let Amanda move out under her own power, but scooped her up and carried her outside. The roar of the crowd outside rattled the massive doors.

Spock drew a ragged breath.

"Are you okay?"

"I can feel them," Spock said. "I can feel them."

"Steady," McCoy said, and Kirk moved in a step closer. "Better?" he asked.

Spock nodded, shoulders dropping a little.

McCoy suddenly realized the why of Spock's familiar stationkeeping, just a half step apart and behind Kirk's shoulder. He was using the splash by of Kirk's formidable shields to guard his own psionic sensitivity.

"Have you always done that deliberately?" McCoy asked curiously. It was another example of why Spock and Kirk worked so well together, and perhaps read each other so well too.

Kirk looked at him, puzzled and clueless. "Do what, Bones?"

"You don't know?" McCoy asked. Kirk frowned. McCoy turned to Spock but the Vulcan was breathing a bit raggedly. Kirk put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll be out of this soon."

The guards came back through the door. "The vehicle is here," they said, and flanked Spock, dissecting him from Kirk's side and interposing their own huge bodies. The doors opened and the roar of the crowd, unfiltered by the stone walls, and carrying freely in the thin air, stunned McCoy's ears.

"_Xhanzrei! Xhanzrei! Xhanzrei! Xhanzrei!"_ they called, over and over. The crowd was a sea of lematya banners. The guards hustled them toward the waiting aircar. In spite of the army holding them back, the crowd lunged forward.

"They'll tear this place apart," Kirk muttered, and tried to push Spock toward the car from behind. But the Vulcan had turned into a tree.

"I can feel them. I have to give them something. Or they will," he said. And he stepped out from behind the phalanx of guards. They reached for him belatedly, but then paused. Because as Spock stepped up toward the crowd, it cheered at his appearance and ceased its lunge forward. Spock held out his hands in a universal gesture for silence. Behind and around Kirk, he heard the click of the guards surreptitiously preparing long range phasers for heavy stun. A flicker of movement over his heads told him the guards on the parapets were similarly preparing. Just in case.

When the crowd quieted, Spock drew a deep breath. At that moment, he held the crowd in the palm of his hand. Or in psionic thrall. He then repeated the ancient words he had recited before Council earlier. With no translator on or handy, they were gibberish to Kirk and McCoy. But they seemed to have an almost electric transformation for the crowd. When he finished, almost as one, the crowd dropped to their knees, as the Starfleet officers had seen Spock do before T'Pau, as they had watched all the Council members do before Spock's family.

There was a silent, pregnant moment, then almost in a group, all the outworlders began to lower themselves as well, falling to knees, retracting tripods, pulling in wings, whatever held the same connotation.

"Spock! Come now!" his guard urged, but hesitant to hustle him away and set off the crowd.

Still Spock hesitated, judging the mood of the crowd. And then Spock dropped to his knees, giving homage in turn to the crowd, lifting his hands up and out as if to offer a mind meld to them without touch. Kirk put a hand to his own forehead. There was a hushed "oh!" from the crowd. Only the guards, perhaps less psi sensitive for a reason, seemed partially immune.

"We can't touch him," a guard muttered to Kirk. "We are forsworn. But you get him **out** of here. **Please**. Before they go berserk."

Only too familiar with the power of even one berserk Vulcan, Kirk stepped up to his still kneeling friend. "Spock? Spock, we have to go."

Spock looked up to Kirk and then rose to his feet. But before he left, he turned to the crowd again. "Go now in peace," he said to them. "And live long and prosper in that peace."

It seemed to wake them from their spell. They rose to their feet and began to chant again. "_Xhanzrei! Xhanzrei!"_

Kirk got an arm under Spock's elbow and hustled him into the waiting craft while the crowd continued to call. But at least, this time, they didn't rush the platform and no phasers needed to be fired. When Kirk had lifted the aircar, gunning it into the darkening sky, the Starfleet officers heard a final booming cheer that seem to rattle the crafts very shields. And then they left the Keep far behind.

xxx

The Fortress was dark when the approached. The only thing lit and gleaming was the iridescent shimmer of the forceshield surrounding it, and the gleam of the metal tunics of the surrounding guard standing silent watch. They braced as Spock passed.

Inside, torches were lit as well, illuminating the great hall, as the guards gave Sarek a full report.

"What were you **thinking**?" Sarek asked tersely, appalled past all Vulcan control.

"The crowd became unruly. I couldn't let the field of them be phaser stunned," Spock said.

"You were supposed to depart quickly. Before they could do anything inappropriate."

"I think they would have rioted," Kirk said. "You didn't see them. Spock did the right thing. He calmed them down."

"Whatever he did to manage that," McCoy commented with his familiar irony.

Amanda turned away from a communications terminal. "Well, the crowds have departed from Council Keep. The city's dark and quiet. I think that by tomorrow, the Vulcans will have remastered their control. And it will be over. They'll just have a memory to hand down to their grandchildren." She shook her head. "Really, Spock. There is such a thing as taking this heirship too far."

"I didn't know what else to do," Spock said. "They clearly wanted something more to keep them from rioting."

"Those gifts are archaic," Sarek lectured severely. "They are not meant to be used to influence modern Vulcans, sentient beings."

"I only influenced them to accept and appreciate Surak's message."

"It is unethical regardless."

"Yes, Father," Spock said, lowering his head.

"It was T'Pau's fault entirely," Sarek said.

Spock lifted his head. "No," he began.

"Attempting to manipulate the observances of this day to her own ends. This is a dangerous ceremony, a dangerous period. Allowing Vulcans to experience even a measure of their passions unbound and unlicensed is like mixing matter and antimatter. The ceremony has been carefully crafted over the years to balance the amount of emotion allowed not to risk that control. Not to tip the scales into something unbridled, uncontrollable. You were in error to follow her influence and further breach that line."

"I'm sorry," Spock said.

It was a peculiarly human phrase in a uniquely Vulcan situation. Sarek's brows rose to his bangs at the incongruity of it.

"But it's over," Amanda said, twisting her hands together, looking anxiously from father to son. "Everything is quiet now. And there's a Vulcan year for us to consider how to handle this day again."

"There may be repercussions sooner than that," Sarek said.

"Oh, please. Stop **yelling** at him," Amanda said, with an edge that communicated her displeasure, for all that she never raised her voice, and for that matter, nor had Sarek, "and let him sit down and eat his dinner. Before he faints. You're the one who's been saying what a brutal day this is for a telepath. And he looks awful." She glanced over her shoulder. "T'Rueth is ready to serve the evening meal."

"I had not raised my voice," Sarek said with injured dignity.

"Humph," Amanda said. "I may not have much in the way of psi skills, but I think telepathically you **were**."

"I am not hungry," Spock demurred. "I would rather rest."

"You should eat," Sarek decreed. "Psi is draining. And food helps to close down the psychic centers."

"You don't want to repeat a certain incident," McCoy warned. "Best to eat something."

Spock looked around from his parents to Kirk and McCoy, all eyeing him, thinking of how he could crash when he became overtired and hungry.

"Very well," Spock conceded.

"I don't know whether you're being exceptionally tolerant, Spock, or if you are just too exhausted to argue," Amanda said. "But I appreciate your forbearance."

This was too formal a meal to eat casually, so they turned into the great hall. It was lit with torches, too, and the huge table there was set as if for a banquet, albeit one with only five place settings. Amanda hitched her long skirt out of the way wearily, saying, "This gown is so heavy that every time I wear it, I develop a new respect for Vulcan strength."

Sarek responded by picking her up and carrying her in, to which she laughed, and unabashedly hugged him. Clearly as testy as the pair could react at times, on the whole, Sarek couldn't do far wrong in his wife's eyes.

T'Jar stepped out of the shadows to serve them.

McCoy drained a glass of water before looking up and down the banquet table and eyeing the torches flickering against the tapestry walls. "This sure is a gloomy castle," McCoy said, a trace uneasily, "in the dark."

"There is a legend," Spock said, "that on this day, ghosts of warriors past return to the Fortress." He glanced at Sarek. "But it is only a legend."

"What I'm afraid of," Amanda said, with a cautious glance to T'Jar, "is that this will be a very traditional Vulcan meal for you. You may not much care for it. But do try it, just this once. I believe T'Rueth would find requests for substitutions a little bit scandalous today." She went on to explain which of the dishes she thought they would find more amenable to their palates.

Sarek was eating with the restrained wolfishness of a hungry Vulcan after a long day.

Spock on the other hand, picked through his meal, clearly liking little of it, and having appetite for less.

"If you really dislike it so much, Spock," Amanda said, shaking her head over his attempt. "We'll just scandalize T'Rueth and bring something out of stasis."

"I think I would really rather go to bed," Spock said, pushing his plate away. "I am sure that tomorrow, my appetite will return."

"I hope so, or you yourself are going to disappear some day." Amanda frowned. "You'll be all right going up on your own?"

"Mother," Spock said with testy patience.

"Take a torch or a candle or something."

"I can see in the dark, Mother," Spock replied. "I would think that today of all days, my Vulcan heritage would be understood."

"That is a really odd thing to say to me, your mother," she said. "And I know that you can see in the dark. I can't help being human, however. Even if you can."

"Forgive me. I suppose I am overly fatigued." Spock said and rose.

"You want me to check you out?" McCoy asked, pausing in plowing through the dinner that he himself found entirely palatable.

"No."

"Why do I even ask that?" McCoy said ironically.

"I am sure my appetite will improve upon a night's rest," Spock said.

"Sleep well, Spock," Kirk said.

"Good night," Spock said. He took neither candle nor torch, and his lean figure soon disappeared in the shadows of the great hall as if he himself became a ghost. Sarek tilted his head, listening for sounds the humans couldn't hear, and then nodded when he apparently heard Spock's door close at the top of the stairs.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," Amanda said as T'Jar took his barely touched plate. "Spock never eats under stress. Between the demands of the day and a dinner he doesn't care for -" she shrugged.

"Was what he did so amazing?" McCoy asked.

Sarek looked at McCoy sharply. "Yes. But you are psi-null, Doctor. I imagine you are unfamiliar with the phenomenon."

"I've seen Spock do it a few times before," McCoy countered. "When we were in tight spots on missions. Getting someone to open a cell door, or flick open a communicator."

Sarek stared at McCoy as if in disbelief. "On missions," he repeated.

"In tight spots," Kirk defended.

"As I said before," Sarek said, his voice terse. "It is one thing to demonstrate the capability to other Vulcans in a purely ceremonial reenactment of warrior methods in ancient times. Quite **another** to use it against other sentient beings to get one's way in real life."

"Spock might not have **had** a real life had he not used it," Kirk flared in turn. "Or the rest of the _Enterprise_ crew. We weren't play acting as warriors. We were often in a fight for our lives."

"That is no excuse, Captain," Sarek said. "These are modern times. Telepathy and telepathic races are regarded very tentatively in the Federation. It is unethical for **any** telepath to use his gifts to overcontrol another's mind. I will discuss this with Spock."

"Whoa, whoa," McCoy cautioned. They were all keeping their voices down, but McCoy had hunched his shoulders are if even sitting up straight could make Spock more aware of the discussion. "Before you decide to burn him at the stake, let's just remember, Spock's not on active duty at the moment."

"Nor, if what you say is true, should he be," Sarek replied. "Ever again."

"I don't know why using all the gifts you have, to save your life, is wrong," Kirk said. "Spock never hurt anyone using them. What he did use of those skills in the past was always to save lives."

"That is immaterial," Sarek said. "You are very gifted, Captain. But you are not a telepath in any trained sense. Spock is. And he was trained not just in skills, but in values."

"Can't see the purpose of the training," McCoy argued, "if he isn't to **use** the skills."

"A healer can use them," Sarek said. "And as for training, an untrained telepath of Spock's ability can be as dangerous as one who uses his gifts for ill."

"Sometimes," Kirk argued, "a Starfleet officer does function as a sort of healer. For the health of the Federation and the continued existence of the society we live in."

"Sarek," Amanda said, cutting into the argument. She waited till everyone was listening to her. "We are not going to settle this tonight. Spock was well trained, and he understood all his lessons, both technical and moral. If he chose to act as he did, he must have had a good reason. You and he can argue the logic of it, the benefits and morals, some other time when he is fully recovered. For now, I think you should just trust that he acted appropriately under whatever circumstances he found himself in. And let it go."

"Trust him?" Sarek asked, his voice expressing his incredulity.

Amanda sighed. "I know. He was at times a difficult and very headstrong child. But he has been an adult for some time now."

"That is debatable. And if true only makes his actions worse."

"Well, he's been on his own and had to make his own judgments."

"My precise argument that he is not ready to make these judgments. Or be on his own."

"Sarek. He's your son. You expect him to trust you, don't you? Well, you have to trust him. You really must."

"After what he did today, I am even less inclined to do so."

"What he did today was startling," Amanda agreed. "But maybe it was something Vulcan - and the Federation even - **needed** to see."

"The repercussions from Vulcan will be severe enough. I shudder to think what they will be from the Federation, if they come to believe Vulcanoids both have and are indiscriminate and unprincipled in the use of such skills. Spock is the last person to be bending the use of them, ethically or morally."

Amanda shook her head. "You don't have to worry about Spock, Sarek. He's already made his reputation in the Federation for his principles. Good and ill. And Starfleet's accepted that. And you don't need to worry about yourself either. You've made yours."

"Living as long as you have in a telepathic society," Sarek noted, "I think you have forgotten how extreme the fear can be among those who don't have those abilities for those who might use them irresponsibly."

"I am sure Spock considered the moral question very deeply," Amanda said.

"Before or after his various acts of Starship theft?" Sarek asked coolly.

Amanda flushed. "Maybe after he did them. But Spock is moral. I suspect he discussed his lapses with T'Pau at any rate. Given he couldn't discuss them with **you** at the time. And she must not have found his actions so very deplorable."

Sarek stared at Amanda in slow surmise. "But given that, she **would** have been familiar enough with his abilities, to engineer the circumstances for this ...exhibition."

Amanda's eyes widened. "I think you are right."

Sarek sat back. "I will discuss this with T'Pau. I can hardly blame Spock for her manipulations."

"Well," Amanda said hesitantly, wanting to protect Spock but also not wanting to be in the middle of another family war. "Spock is not a complete innocent. He generally **chooses** when to be manipulated."

"I am not unaware of that, but it is a mitigating circumstance," Sarek said darkly. And shook his head in a real, human gesture of frustration. "There are times, my wife, when I wish that **I** was born into another family."

Amanda smiled. "I know. I tend to agree. But I do love you all anyway."

McCoy and Kirk had been looking from one to the other at this debate, like participants at a tennis match. "So Spock is off the hook?"

"We are all responsible for our actions," Sarek said. "However much we are guided by other mentors. But I will speak to T'Pau first."

"If you want to minimize the influence she has on his actions, Sarek," Amanda pointed out from her end of the table, serving herself a second helping, "the best way is to become his primary mentor. You really never have had time to do that."

"There is the possibility, I suppose," Sarek said, with the flick of a considering brow, "that it is not too late."

Kirk straightened in his seat at the table at this.

And McCoy thought of his old armorer and wondered if he had been an omen.

Sarek and Amanda soon retired as well, and Kirk and McCoy were left sitting at the banquet table, under the flickering torches.

"There are lots of telepaths in the Federation," McCoy said. "I can't see what Spock has done on active duty was so very wrong. "

Kirk drank a swig of water. "Not illegal, certainly. But I told you about Jose."

"That he seemed half inclined to burn Spock for a witch. But, Jim, no one in the Federation pays all that much attention to this ceremony. It'll go unnoticed."

"You're probably right," Kirk said. "The Starfleet rep at the Federation Center called it a joke."

"Maybe Sarek will have more problems politically with a wider understanding of their telepathy," McCoy said. "But I can't see that it will draw any real attention to Spock from Starfleet quarters. You heard Amanda. This will all die down by tomorrow."

"I hope so," Kirk said. "But I guess it's logical that Vulcans haven't made up their mind about the Federation. Because it seems the Federation, or Starfleet, isn't entirely sure about them." He drew a breath. "And I didn't really understand **that** before this mission, either."

_To be continued... _


	54. Chapter 54

**Home is the Sailor**

**by**

**Pat Foley**

**Chapter 54**

In the hour just before dawn, when the stars had faded but Eridani had not shown itself over the Llangons, when most predators and prey had returned to their hiding holes, a Vulcan night could be very dark, cold, and silent.

McCoy had retired not long after Sarek and Amanda. But Kirk was restless. He'd never thought of Vulcan as a shore leave destination. He'd certainly not been in favor of taking this sort of leave, and had often felt frustrated and thwarted. What he had thought of as Spock's forced incarceration at his childhood home had necessarily kept him a prisoner too. But in spite of his own inclinations to the contrary, he'd perforce had to rest as well. He couldn't say his mind had ever been quite at ease. But his body had recovered from their last ill-fated mission. And he was more than ready for action.

Seeing all the soldiers, even from mock armies, the fighter wings in the air, smelling the combination of gun oil and incendiaries from the explosions had awakened something atavistic in him. He was like an war horse turned out to a convalescent pasture, who nevertheless heard the bugle cry of battle, faint and from a distance. He'd raised his head listening and yearning. He wanted to move.

Except at the moment, there was nowhere to move. After he saw McCoy off to bed, he checked with Scotty via communicator. But the _Enterprise_ must be long out of range. And the communications terminal, that he might have used to patch through a higher gain signal, was dark and dead. No outlet there.

The walls of his suite felt like they were closing in on him. It didn't matter that the suite was ten times the size of his little bunk/office cabin on the _Enterprise_, and he never felt confined or closed in there. The _Enterprise_ was always moving. The Fortress, an anachronism, was rooted in its mountain foundation.

Nerves at edge, he set to escape in some way. The halls were dark, lit only by a few far spaced flickering torches, hardly adequate for human sight. Vulcans having near perfect night vision, they needed very little light by which to see. The darkness was almost complete to Kirk, but he had reasonably good night vision too. By a combination of that, memory, touch, and faint starlight, he felt his way out of the hall from his suite, down the stairs and out the garden court door. Outside the huge bowl of stars overhead helped immeasurably, in spite of the moonlessness of the night.

But the dark gardens were unattractive without their nighttime fairy lights.

And the desert, Spock's perennial lure, was not an option for him. He didn't have the hearing to detect nighttime predators from a safe distance, nor the vision to see them, nor - reluctant as he was to admit it - the strength or knowledge of their dangers to risk battling them bare handed. He could take lights and scanners and phasers, but where was the fun in that? Even from his short introduction to the Forge, he'd come to appreciate Spock's love of immersing himself in the Vulcan wilds with minimal gear. But it was too risky a proposition for a human alone and at night.

There was Spock's flyer. He could take that out. But to where? Across the sweep of desert, only the faint navigation beacon above T'Pau's Palace winked slowly. The huge bulk of the city of Shikahr, that normally burned with an incandescent glow throughout the long Vulcan night was now dark and almost invisible. Vulcans apparently took very seriously the embrace of ancient ways from the close of Council till dawn. So Shikahr slumbered like a hidden giant in the dark. Deceptively defenseless in that darkness.

But even as Kirk looked up at the stars he saw a faint flicker of deeper darkness that he realized was a fighter wing, one of many patrolling the skies, blotting out the stars behind its body. Vulcan in general might be sleeping, but even so it had no intention of being caught napping by enemies thinking to take advantage of their immersion in ancient culture. He wondered what Romulan had tried to use that circumstance in millennia past for Vulcans to put so many craft in the air as a deterrence. And what it must be like to live professing peace, but with the warlike Romulans perpetually on one's doorstep. Vulcan had allegedly beaten them back several times, but had never sought to conquer and put an end to them, though they'd reset their Neutral Zone boundary several times as the Romulan's war capacity increased to make them more of a threat.

Kirk found the Vulcan attitude toward Romulus almost as bizarre as their blasé attitude of living with lethal predators at their doorsteps. As if the Roms were merely another tedious force of nature that had to be tolerated and deterred enough to live in conjunction with, but never, ever eradicated.

_Vulcans._

But the wings convinced him not to bother with Spock's flyer. He suspected the military patrol wouldn't be appreciative of him blundering in to their maneuvers. And he didn't want to fly around anyway. He'd mastered Spock's new craft. It held no challenge and no appeal for him tonight. And with Shikahr dark there was no appeal taking it there either.

Still the lure of some sort of action or contact brought him to the outside gate. He could see many more guards were walking point tonight, more even than during the party. A guard in full body armor, dark and suspicious, turned to stand in front of the gate, frowning at him, as if to deter his exit. Even though Kirk had no thought at the moment to go anywhere, the move made him put a hand on the gate, to which the guard said one of the few words in Vulcan he knew.

_"Kroykah!"_

"What, I can't go out?" Kirk asked. Sarek hadn't mentioned this.

_**"Kroykah!"**_

Kirk narrowed his brow, evaluating everything from the guard's body mass to his weaponry, debating in a purely sort of perfunctory way whether to try to take him. Once he got through the gate. There was the equivalent of the army on the other side though. The guard had reinforcements. He hadn't decided to go, or where to go, should he think he could take him. But the puzzle was a welcome one to distract his mind.

Another Vulcan came over. Equally huge, but this one was familiar, in spite of the helmet that covered his head. Kirk remembered he was Sascek. The guy who ran the hill farm and kept the sehlats. In fact, one of the massive animals tagged frisking at his heels as he came up to Kirk across the gate. Amanda's guard when things got volatile, he at least had the ability to speak Standard.

"I'm afraid we have orders to let no one pass, Captain. In or out."

"I didn't know I was a prisoner," Kirk said, mildly but pointedly.

"I doubt Sarek expected you'd seek to leave tonight. No doubt he will grant approval if you wish to leave. But he may desire to speak to you first before you attempt it. And I must seek his approval before I allow anyone to pass. I wouldn't recommend trying to go out tonight. Nor perhaps tomorrow. It will be difficult. You will certainly require escort."

"Escort?" Kirk asked, raising his brows.

"They're already out there," Sascek said. "Starting to amass. It will only get worse as dawn advances."

"Who?" Kirk demanded.

"Why, the press, of course," Sascek said. "They're obviously seeking a statement. Sarek will speak to them tomorrow. But not this evening. They are just getting their recorders in position. Here," he produced a portable scanner, fumbled a bit with it and held it up to Kirk outside the gate. Kirk could see in the shady dark of its night vision display lines of beings, humans, some aliens, vehicles marked with the logos of familiar Federation news services, some reputable, some obvious scandal mongers, all massing on the area just outside the Fortress' force screens.

"Aren't they in danger out there?" Kirk asked. "Outside the shield and in the night?"

"Yes, fools that they are," Sascek said. "We had an incident, not long after Sarek took the Lady Amanda to wife. And then another years later, when some members of the Press tried to use the foothills behind the Fortress as a scanning post to peer into the grounds, and were caught by a denning lematya. We now have to shepherd **them** too, lest they incur their own demise. It is a nuisance. But Sarek expected this incursion after the volatility of the Council meeting. He'll give a statement after sunrise. We can only hope they will go away then. It has been quiet lately from that quarter. But the less legitimate press may be interested, and give us more work."

"Because of Spock."

"He apparently has caught their attention. These types," he nodded to the groups on the scanner setting up their positions, "tend to only be interested in scandal and novelty. Their sieges are generally short-lived. In a year or two-"

"A year?" Kirk barked, scandalized in turn.

Sascek tilted his head in a Vulcan shrug. "Hard to say. I don't understand humans. With the Lady Amanda, it took years before they left her relatively in peace. Spock may have a similar problem now that he is back. I can't judge their motivations and interests. They don't think logically. But you see why you can't go out, Captain. If you attempted to leave, on foot, or in a vehicle, they would follow you in droves. They are quite tenacious and persistent. We would have to give chase to protect you. We can evict them from the planet, if they break laws. But it's best not to incur that situation, but rather create one where you are more in control. You can't leave now without a guard escort to prevent this harassment. And Sarek wishes no one to confront the press until he has given his statement."

"I wasn't really thinking of going anywhere. I just don't like being boxed in."

"The Lady Amanda has expressed the same conviction," Sascek nodded. "Good night, Captain."

The prospect of being chased by hordes of paparazzi convinced Kirk to stay inside the Fortress grounds. He had incurred some press attention on his own, when he first assumed Starship command, and after a few significant victories in his career. Perhaps not like what he had seen here, but enough to make him wary of confronting them, as Sascek said, without considering how to gain the best advantage.

He found his way back into the house. It was too dark to read. Even his thoughts were not a comfortable diversion, puzzling over this new development. He finally fell asleep, but it was a restless one. And he woke to the firm conviction that something was wrong. Very wrong.

xxx

Unlike his Captain, McCoy had spent the night hard asleep, tired from the long day in the heat and punishing gravity, soporific from digesting the heavy meal he'd eaten before retiring. In spite of the chill coming in from the window he'd left opened to the Vulcan night, he was warm in his bedding. Compared to his bunk on the Enterprise, his bed here was wide and comfortable, the linens luxurious, the breeze coming in from the mountains fresh and tangy with Vulcan vegetation and the scent of heated rocks cooling in the night. Horrible as the Vulcan days could be to humans, their cool dry nights made for excellent sleeping weather.

That is, he would have been comfortable. Except for someone preemptively shaking his shoulder, loosening his quilt and letting in a cold draft of air. He hunched up against it, and muttered. A curt, anxious voice, too familiar, and now too unwelcome, answered him.

"Bones, wake up," Kirk said. "Get up now. Or I'll pull you out of bed onto the damn floor."

"Whazzup?" McCoy growled, throwing a pillow over his head and striving to stay cocooned. "Red alert? Romulans on the move?"

"No."

"Then go 'way. Go back to bed." He cracked an eyelid. "It isn't dawn."

"Spock's sick."

McCoy blinked, pushed the pillow aside, opening both eyes. "What? How do you know?"

"I couldn't sleep - you know. I just felt this...unease. I managed to get a relay to Enterprise, finally, through a passing Fed cruiser, since the ship's out of communicator range. All the comms are still down in the house. All was well there. But I couldn't shake it. So I went to check on Spock. And I can't wake him."

"He's probably just exhausted," McCoy ventured uneasily, sitting up, wide awake now.

"He feels hot."

McCoy grimaced at that inexpert diagnosis. "Vulcans are all hot."

"Bones, do you think I haven't wrestled Spock, lugged him out of dangerous situations, and generally served sleeve to sleeve with him long enough to know how he usually feels to the touch? Even I don't need a medical degree or scanner to read a feverish Vulcan. Come **on**."

"All right," McCoy said, rubbing his eyes and frowning. He waved at the light, but it stayed stubbornly dark. "Power **still** off?"

"They said till dawn."

"Damn Vulcans," McCoy said, peering around vaguely. "Not even a moon for a night-light." He found and pulled on pants. Kirk handed him his shirt. He fumbled around on the bed table till his fingers identified his portable medical kit.

"Lead on McDuff," McCoy said, holding out a hand in front of him blindly, feeling for obstacles. "We should have taken a torch or a candle."

"There's a torch burning in the great hall. It's dying down, but it gives enough light to climb the stairs," Kirk said.

"This reminds me why I hate castles. At least in the dark. I wouldn't be surprised if we did come across a Vulcan ghost or two."

"Hurry **up**, Bones."

The staircase was lit enough by the spill of torches in the great hall that they crept up the stairs without incident, and found Spock's door with only a little fumbling. Inside, in the renewed dark, McCoy promptly tripped over a chair, and only Kirk's arm saved him.

"Bones, what the hell?" Kirk snapped. "Watch where you're going, would you?"

"Never had the best night vision, even in my younger days" McCoy mumbled. "Just wait, in ten years yours'll go too."

"This way," Kirk said.

There was a flickering fire idol in Spock's room that gave a bit of light. McCoy's own instruments had their own illuminated displays.

"Spock?" he asked, sinking down by the Vulcan's side. "You oka-" One hand touching the Vulcan's forehead to check for fever, even as the other was shaking out his med scanner, told him otherwise. He snatched his hand away. "Damn!"

"Told you," Kirk said uneasily. "He's way too hot. And he won't wake up."

McCoy fumbled for his medical instruments, and swore as he knocked half of them to the floor. "Hell, I can't diagnose like this. We've got to get the power on. Does the intercom work?"

"Didn't for me," Kirk said. "Maybe there's a code or sequence for an emergency, but I couldn't discern one."

Spock tossed restlessly, and Kirk sank down and recovered him. "Easy," he said, "McCoy and I are here."

McCoy looked down at them. "Stay here and keep him quiet and covered. I don't dare even give him some levanol till I get some readings. I'll get Sarek to turn the power on."

"I can find my way in the dark better."

"If it comes to an argument over Vulcan tradition with Sarek, I've got my medical authority," McCoy said. "And if it comes to a tussle with Spock, **you're** more likely to keep him down and quiet without drugs. You stay. I'll be back with Sarek in a minute." He turned and blundered his way out.

Kirk heard something knock over in the outer room and called. "Be careful. In this gravity, if you fall you could break something."

"What I want to break is this damn Vulcan tradition," McCoy snarled back, and then Kirk heard the outer door close behind him.

McCoy had never been in the corridor that led to Sarek and Amanda's suite, but he'd seen them going to and from it often enough. It hadn't occurred to him until he turned down it that he didn't quite know which door on it led to their quarters. He started beating a tattoo on likely doors and hallooing out. The corridor seemed endless in the silent night. Remembering how turned around and lost he'd gotten leaving Sarek's office, he grew a little rushed and frantic, blundering down a hall so dark he could hardly see his hand in front of his face.

He'd just turned a corner when a darker shadow than the ink black of the corridor rose up before him. Tales of the ghosts of Vulcan warriors rose in some atavistic part of his head, aided by the ambiance of the stone castle, its flickering torches and too many years as a kid, scaring himself with ancient ghost stories and horror movies. Shrieking like a train whistle, he struck out with both fists blindly, determined to sell his life dearly, Vulcan ghosts or no, when he felt his arms arrested in an unyielding grip and a cool, unruffled and precise voice asked, "Doctor, are you sleepwalking?"

"You nearly gave me a heart attack," McCoy said gasping, and holding a hand to his chest.

He'd forgotten Vulcans didn't have a human sense of humor, or a human sense for idiom. And that the Vulcan in question had had experience of heart attack. He found himself pulled through a doorway into a room and pushed into a chair. He must have found their suite, for Amanda was just coming through the inner door, giving McCoy a glimpse of a bedchamber with a wide bed. Faint starlight reflected off sheets, white as the ghosts of ancient Vulcans of legend, that had fallen to the stone flagged floor from where Sarek must have tossed them when he rose to deal with their hallooing visitor.

"You are ill?" Sarek asked him, frowning in real worry at McCoy's jesting reference to a heart condition.

"What's wrong?" Amanda asked, coming up behind her husband, peering around his broad shoulder. In the faint starlight, with her hair falling loosely down past her waist, she looked like something from the cover of a romance novel. And Sarek, with his tousled hair and bare chest, which the physician in McCoy couldn't help but notice had not even the barest trace of a surgery scar, could have joined her there. Or subbed for a prehistoric Vulcan.

"No, sorry," McCoy gasped, in spite of his hand on his heart, still recovering from the scare Sarek had just given him. "Guess I shouldn't have joked about that. But you have to get the power back on. Spock is ill."

"But he was fine when he went to bed," Amanda protested.

"Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn't. He's sick now. I need light. And power to diagnose him. Maybe to pull in resources."

Sarek turned aside.

Unnerved by the Vulcan's lack of answer, McCoy blundered after him, and promptly tripped over another chair, nearly pitching forward again, the lethal gravity throwing off his normal balance. "I mean it; I'm not joking now. It's urgent. And I want -"

Then his eyes adjusted a little better. Sarek was by a communications/computer terminal, saying something soft-voiced. The Vulcan took a half step away and raised his arm. Every light in the outer suite snapped to full illumination. Outside, every light in the garden court, along the parapets and even the fairy lights in the garden, came on.

"Yow," McCoy said, bringing both hands up to shield his dazzled eyes, his pupils having been strained to their widest in the inky dark.

"You could have brought them up gradually, Sarek," Amanda complained, blinking as well.

"Or warned us," McCoy groused.

"He said it was **urgent**," Sarek said, with Spockian cluelessness.

"Still no excuse to blind us," Amanda countered.

Through the wide open windows, McCoy could hear the guards soft calls of surprise. Then except for the flap of the banners outside hanging from the ramparts, all was silent again, pregnant with the tension before dawn.

"What do you mean, Spock is ill?" Amanda asked.

McCoy drew a deep breath, taking his hands from his face and blinking his eyes. "He has a fever. I couldn't tell much more in the dark."

"Get dressed," Sarek said to Amanda. In the brilliant light, McCoy realized that she was clutching a robe about her, and probably little else beneath. She turned, frowning and went back into their bedroom. Sarek followed her, but came back almost in the same moment, having added a tunic in addition to the pants he had been wearing. Amanda, in shorts and a shirt was not far behind him.

McCoy picked up his feet as if to jog, and Sarek put a firm hand on his arm. It was the second time in a few minutes that the elder Vulcan had touched him. This time instead of picking him up, Sarek arrested his forward progress with the unyielding, bone breaking strength that even restrained for humans stunned McCoy every time he encountered it in Vulcans. He thought of how powerful Spock could be when he lost his temper and succumbed to the violence that seemed to lay buried just beneath every Vulcan's control. It left him newly respectful of Amanda, living as she did in close quarters with her husband day after day after day.

"Calmly, Doctor," Sarek said, his level voice at odds with his forceful grip. "If you stumble and fall, you could injure yourself."

"I think you're a lot stronger than Spock is, even when he's well," McCoy ventured.

Sarek flicked a puzzled brow and as if catching himself, released McCoy. "What would you expect? He's not nearly fully mature."

McCoy shook his head and told himself for the hundredth time that aliens were aliens, however humanoid they appeared.

"How did you know that Spock had become ill?" Sarek said, as they all walked rapid pace down the hall toward the staircase.

"Jim had a hunch and went to check on him."

"Another of these mutual hunches between them," Sarek noted as if displeased.

"Good thing he did," McCoy said in return. "Spock's burning up."

"He is well able to -" Sarek hesitated.

"But he really **can't** heal himself," Amanda said anxiously. "Not now. Not yet. Unless you think he can. But with this fever -"

"Once McCoy has light enough to confirm this illness," Sarek said. "I will call Sivesh."

Kirk looked up from Spock's bedside as they came in the door. He had all the lights on. Outside, dawn birds were beginning to call, heralding the sunrise that was still a good hour away. But Spock was still unconscious.

"He's bad, Bones," Kirk said. "I still can't get him to wake."

"Let me in there, Jim," McCoy said. He ran a scanner over Spock and his eyes bulged at the readings. He looked up at Sarek. "Call Sivesh." He went back to his scanner readings.

"But what is it?" Amanda asked McCoy. Sarek paused, waiting for McCoy's report.

"'Fraid I haven't a damn clue what this is yet," McCoy said, shaking his head. "But whatever it is, it's virulent."

"Virulent." Amanda turned from her son to her husband. "Virulent? Do **you** feel ill, Sarek?"

Sarek blinked in astonishment at that. "I am in perfect health."

"You're sure?" Amanda insisted.

Sarek frowned slightly at being disbelieved. Then, under three humans concerted and unconvinced gazes, he closed his eyes briefly. It only took him a moment to run whatever check he had done. "I am **quite** sure."

"Maybe you shouldn't get too close to Spock," Amanda said doubtfully to her husband. "Until we know he's not contagious."

Sarek raised a brow. "Unlike Spock, I am fully capable of entering a healing trance."

"No sense borrowing trouble," Amanda muttered.

"What about you, Bones?" Kirk said. "You weren't feeling well, earlier, in the Council Chambers."

"That was just heat exhaustion," McCoy said. "That gallery was like an oven with the heat of those torches and all the crowd's heat rising. And then to come down **into** that crowd - I was fine once I got back here. I ate a full dinner."

"Uhura," Kirk said, snapping his fingers at the memory. "**She** was sick. And she sneezed right in Spock's face."

McCoy hesitated, thinking about that. "Not likely. Not many diseases vector across from humans to Vulcans."

"Spock's not fully Vulcan," Kirk said.

"We'll call Mark as well," Amanda decided. "Between Sivesh, Mark and Leonard, we'll get a handle on it soon.

Sarek went to the outer workroom, and there was a moment's pause, then he returned. "I had forgotten that Spock's terminal is smashed. I will return in a moment."

"Or should we take him to the hospital?" Amanda fretted, with Sarek gone. "Or the Healer's enclave?"

"Let's start with getting them here. Where we take him, if we take him anywhere, may depend on what he might have." He looked at Amanda's worried face. "Don't panic yet. Spock's a tough customer."

She nodded but when Sarek came back to her side after returning from the communications unit, she put her arm around his waist and her head against his chest.

"They are on their way," Sarek said.

"Jim, would you run downstairs and get my medical bag? It's in the bottom dresser drawer," McCoy said, calm and professional. "I'm going to want better resources than this portable kit."

McCoy had tried an infusion of levanol by the time Kirk had returned. He switched from the portable scanner he was using to laying a flexible fiber diagnostic panel from his medical bag over Spock's body and opening up the readout tablet. "Well, that levanol hasn't made a dent," he said. "In fact, unless this panel disagrees with my portable scanner, his fever's risen a degree." He took out his scanner again and compared the readings. "Nope. It's gone up."

Sivesh walked through the door, followed by Sarek and Mark Abrams.

"Thank you for coming," Amanda said.

"No problem," Abrams said. "Except for that last leg of the trip, fleeing the paparazzi bots trying to chase after us through the force screen. Looks like you're having trouble with the press again. Have they got word of Spock's illness?"

"Press?" Amanda frowned, puzzled. "No, of course not. We haven't spoken to them."

"Well, they are camped out, yards deep, around your perimeter."

"Oh, not that too," Amanda said. "They must be here over the Council meeting."

"Well, between the Healer's Enclave blazon on Sivesh's vehicle, and the Med MD one on mine, they'll obviously gather something medical's going as well. They have video of our arrival. Maybe you should have told us to come in unmarked vehicles."

"I didn't think," Amanda said.

"It doesn't matter," Sarek said.

"Who cares about reporters?" McCoy said from Spock's bedside. "I've got a Vulcan trying to imitate a supernova over here, and no clue yet as to what it is. A good slug of levanol hasn't made a dent. In fact, his fever's rising in spite of it. I could use a little help from you resident medicos as to your local bugs. Or we're going to lose him. Then all that press will be reporting is his damn obituary. So get your scanners or your senses out, and let's get crackin'."

Kirk rose from Spock's side to make way for physicians and went out to the balcony. His brows rose at the sight of the crowd. As Abrams had said, it surrounded the Fortress yards deep, with bots whirling through the sky, every sensor and lens pointed at the ancient castle. The dawn light brought out the sight of the Fortress' defenses before this siege. The guards didn't wear liveried tapestry smocks over their body armor as for yesterday's pageant. Today, all business, they had the ancient lematya symbol laser-etched into the superlight, super strong metal. And they didn't bother with archaic weapons. They wore respectably strong stun phasers on their belts. These two modern forces, battling for information rather than goods, faced off each other in an otherwise beautiful Vulcan day. Above the Fortress, the lematya banners snapped and billowed in the crisp dawn winds. Kirk turned toward the breeze, cooling his face where it had been flushed from the heat of his friend's rampant fever.

_To be continued..._


End file.
